


No One Compares To You

by CapedCommissioner (smittenbritain)



Series: To My Motion Fatigue, Farewell [1]
Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Canon, Sex, Vigilante Joker ending, retired Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 88,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smittenbritain/pseuds/CapedCommissioner
Summary: Deciding to give up Batman was easy; it left Bruce with more time to himself, time that he could use to better Gotham and spend with Jim. If anyone deserved to take things slow and steady, it was them.Stayingretired was the hard part. It didn't help that Waller was sniffing around again, despite their deal.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Series: To My Motion Fatigue, Farewell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991377
Comments: 34
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I played the Vigilante Joker route, and this fic follows after that!
> 
> This fic is also fully written and will be updated weekly!
> 
> Do not interact if you ship any incest pairings.

Giving up Batman wasn’t as simple as Bruce had initially thought. 

The decision had been easy. He knew he would miss Alfred far, far more than he would miss Batman; he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest. One thing he hadn’t accounted for, though, was all of the loose ends that needed tying up before he could finally put the suit away once and for all. Thankfully, Alfred was a patient and understanding man, and when Bruce approached him about the first - and, to him, most important - thing, Alfred gave him his blessing to wear the suit one last time.

The problem, though, was _how_ to tell Commissioner Gordon that he was Batman. There would need to be some kind of proof to back up his words - proof that the suit would nicely provide - but then the setting remained.

It was a good thing he already had Jim’s number.

Bruce waited, suited up and leaning against the side of the Batmobile, down the side of ACE Chemicals. It seemed like a prudent place to wait, considering it had been the climax of his story with John, where all of the threads had finally come together. He hadn’t had as much time to talk to Jim as he’d hoped after everything, and he’d been busy enough in the aftermath without Bruce bothering him, either as himself or as Batman. 

It had hurt, though, to ignore the Batsignal every other night for the past week. 

A GCPD car parked a short distance away. A familiar figure emerged, and Bruce watched as he paused to light a cigarette. He swept the area as he idly puffed away on it, and then raised a hand in greeting when he spotted Bruce.

His heart skipped a beat. It always did when he saw Jim, though now it was laced with nerves right alongside the usual fondness.

“Batman,” Jim called, a smile breaking out across his face as he wandered over. “Glad to see you. You had me worried there, you know.”

“It’s good to see you too, Jim.” 

He watched with some satisfaction as confusion flickered across Jim’s features at the sound of his voice - his own voice, not Batman’s low growl. Bruce had deliberately switched off the voice modulator tonight. There was no need for it here. He didn’t think Jim had connected the dots just yet, though he clearly recognised his voice without the filter; his brows stayed furrowed as he studied Bruce with a newly critical eye.

“What happened to the, uh…” Jim trailed off and gestured to his own throat. 

“I’ll get to that,” Bruce promised. “It’s part of why I called you here.”

Jim paused as understanding crossed his face. “You… no, Batman, you don’t have to tell me that. I’m fine not knowing. I already told you years ago.” He waved with his cigarette, the smoke curling through the cold night air. “This doesn’t work if you tell me.”

“I know,” Bruce conceded, tilting his head, “but I need to explain. I…” He glanced away. He couldn’t do it, not while Jim was watching him. “I’m retiring.”

A beat of silence passed. “You’re retiring.”

Bruce nodded. “I am. It’s for my family.” Steeling himself, Bruce lifted his gaze to Jim’s again. “You know what happened to me on the GCPD roof. I could have died. I’m still recovering from that, and that’s not even counting what happened with Joker.” His thigh twinged where John had stabbed him; Bruce was grateful for the Batmobile behind him to keep him upright. “And… I feel responsible for what happened this time. It was my fault.”

“Batman…” Jim shook his head slowly. His boots crunched on the gravel as he came closer, propping himself up on the Batmobile next to Bruce. “Shit, imagine how much worse things could’ve been if we _didn’t_ have you.”

“But Gotham _does_ have _you._ You’ve always had the city’s best interests at heart, Jim, and you’ve never caused someone to go down a worse path like I did this time.”

“Joker? C’mon, nobody could’ve avoided that.”

Bruce huffed out a quiet, humorless laugh. “He seemed like he needed someone. I tried to help. Needless to say, it didn’t go well. I don’t think that would have happened if he’d stayed in Arkham.”

“Huh.” Jim tapped on his cigarette, casting some ash to the ground. “Still, that’s not your fault. I’ve had cops go bad on me. It’s not always something you can control.”

“Not always,” Bruce repeated, “but it was this time, and I screwed it up. I had plenty of chances to change things around, and I didn’t take them.” He shook his head, as if ridding himself of the conversation. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss my shortcomings. I’m… coming to terms with it myself. It’ll be easier once I’ve hung up the cowl.” Granted, he wasn’t sure he could keep being Batman now even if he wanted to. He lowered a hand to his side, where the most severe of his wounds had only just started to heal. It ached.

“Alright, that’s fair.” Jim sighed, smoke curling out from his lips. “I won’t push you. I’m gonna miss seeing you around though, you know. It won’t be the same without you.”

“Well…” Bruce folded his hands on his knees, staring out across the parking lot. “If you want, after you know who I am, we can still work together. There’s ways I can help, and I’d still like to see you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s alright if you change your mind after you know.”

Jim snorted. “You’re not gonna scare me off that easy, Batman.”

For the first time in a while, Bruce laughed, and he actually felt it. It loosened something up inside him, releasing tension he’d been holding for longer than he could remember. Probably since Waller had first approached him. 

“Let’s see if you still think that in a moment.”

Bruce reached up to his cowl, seeking out the latches behind the bat ears. There was a quiet pop as they released, and he bowed his head forwards to lift it off and, finally, reveal his face; the cold air stung against his face where it had been warmed by the mask. Almost shyly, he raised his head again to look at Jim.

Jim, who was openly staring, his cigarette forgotten as it burned down to the butt.

“Huh,” he said eventually. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect it to be you, Wayne.” He squinted at him. “Although, makes sense that you’d have the funds to make all this stuff.”

“That does come in handy,” Bruce admitted with a sheepish chuckle. He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping it would soothe the awkward prickling he felt creeping across his skin. He felt so naked without the cowl on. “So, uh… I didn’t scare you off, did I?”

“Nope.” Jim dropped his cigarette to the gravel and put it out with the heel of his boot. He sighed as he settled back against the Batmobile again. “Just trying to figure out how to ask Bruce Wayne if he wants to grab a beer instead of asking Batman like I’d planned.” 

Bruce blinked. Was Jim blushing? “I… Well, I know I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and since I’m not sure I’ll exactly be _welcome_ at most bars, how about dinner instead on Friday?”

“Sounds like a date.” 

Jim was _definitely_ blushing. Bruce was certain he could see it, even in the dim light of the streetlamps. 

He didn’t expect this conversation to go _that_ well. Bruce had been wondering if maybe they could get there eventually, maybe after plenty of talking and working together, but…

He had a date. A date with Jim Gordon, a man he’d been admiring for a good, long while.

Bruce couldn’t help the quiet laugh that tumbled out of him. “If I’d known that you wanted to ask me out, I would’ve revealed my identity sooner.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly do it while you were just Batman, could I?” Jim bumped his arm against Bruce’s. “I don’t know who would be worse to take to my kind of bar, a vigilante or a billionaire.”

For the first time in weeks, hope bloomed in Bruce’s chest. Feeling bold, he reached over to rest his hand on Jim’s; he couldn’t feel the warmth of it through the suit, but he could imagine it. “I think I’ll take my chances as just Bruce,” he said.

“You know,” Jim said, turning his hand over to lace their fingers together, “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

There was one thing that he _didn’_ t want Alfred to know about, though. Guilt wrapped itself around Bruce’s throat like a vice, piling on top of the already existing weight on his shoulders. Despite Jim’s reassurances that it wasn’t all his fault, it simply wasn’t that easy to let go, and Bruce had figured that he might as well just face the consequences head on. The worst that could happen was that it would linger with him for a little more time, and he was willing to take that chance for some closure.

That same evening, he sunk down in the driver’s seat of the modest little car he’d rented as he drove through the gates to Arkham. The security guards waved him through - he’d called ahead to arrange things, and he’d been assured that the staff had all been sworn to secrecy over his visit. 

Good. The last thing Bruce needed was another scandal after his own stint in Arkham and, briefly, the GCPD’s handcuffs.

The hallways were just as gloomy as he remembered them, though being in his own clothing certainly made it a little easier. Bruce followed the doctor silently, casting furtive glances at the doors as they passed; unease settled heavily in his chest, despite the fact that he was free to leave whenever he liked. He didn’t have to be here. 

Well, legally speaking, he didn’t have to be. Morally, though… he felt that he had an obligation to keep.

“Here we are.” Doctor Leland stopped, holding her clipboard to her chest. She gave no sign that she had once told Bruce he’d be better off staying in Arkham; she was strictly professional now, friendly even. “If you’d like a seat, there’s one behind you. Otherwise, if you need help, I’ll be down the hall, and guards are nearby, too.” She paused, softening. “I’d like to think John wouldn’t be any trouble, though.”

“Thank you.” Bruce nodded, and he managed to summon a polite smile. 

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” Doctor Leland reached for the slider across John’s door. “He’s been asking after you, you know. He’ll really appreciate this visit.”

She didn’t give him a chance to reply. She pulled back the slider with a rasp, and a small slit opened in the door, just below Bruce’s eyeline. He couldn’t see much through it, but he could see enough: a bed, a figure sitting on the edge of it, and a chair tucked into the corner. It was startlingly familiar to what his own cell had been like, minus the personal touches.

“John,” Doctor Leland called.

His head snapped up to the door, and then John froze. Bruce stilled as their eyes met, and his throat constricted. For a long, long moment, John’s expression was simply stunned, and then he broke into a slow, too wide smile.

“ _Bruce_ ,” he breathed. 

Doctor Leland’s heels clicked away on the tiled floors. Bruce cleared his throat. “Hi, John.”

He looked like he wanted to snap something at Bruce, but he restrained himself; Bruce could see it in the way his lips twisted and his brows scrunched together, and then it all eased again in a matter of seconds. He got to his feet to come to the door. Bruce resisted the urge to take a few steps back.

“I… I didn’t think you’d come,” John said. “Wow! Bruce! I thought you were done with me after, you know, the whole fistfight thing.” He laughed, as if he’d told an amusing joke. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

Bruce smiled a little awkwardly. “It’s… it’s fine.” 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what he wanted from this conversation. God, why had he come here? Bruce swallowed hard, trying to press down on the little bubble of panic that tried to rise up through his chest. That wouldn’t help, and he didn’t want John to see any gaps in his armour - metaphorical now, though Bruce would have loved the reassuring weight of the Batsuit.

He’d come to Arkham for a reason, he reminded himself. John had been his friend, once upon a time, and it was his own fault that he’d ended up with such a twisted sense of justice. Part of Bruce was furious that John had taken such an integral part of Bruce’s own drive and morphed it into something unrecognisable and selfish, and he almost wanted to punish John for that, for poisoning something so intrinsically linked to his parents.

The more reasonable part of him, however, knew that the Joker had been created because of Bruce’s own doing. He’d taught John how to use a Batarang; he’d attempted to teach John right from wrong; he’d protected John from the Agency out of some sense of obligation, and in doing so, he’d unleashed him. 

John watched him expectantly, his smile slipping just a little as confusion set in at Bruce’s silence. Bruce straightened up a little, gathering himself. “John, I wanted to apologise.”

“Huh?” John cocked his head. “ _Apologise?_ Why?”

“It’s my fault that things ended up this way,” Bruce said, gesturing towards the cell door between them. “I didn’t mean for you to end up back in Arkham, or for… well, any of it.” It was true that Waller had forced his hand for much of it, but there were also certain decisions that Bruce had made - blowing his cover, for one, which had not been a popular choice with many people, and he had often wondered if there would have been less casualties if he’d stuck it out.

John stared blankly at him, and then barked out a sharp laugh. “Bruce, do you remember when I said I _missed_ being in Arkham? Being back here is wonderful! The food is great, I have my own bed, nobody _bothers_ me anymore…” He sighed, pleased. 

And then the smile dropped, along with Bruce’s stomach.

“But it _has_ given me an awful lot of time to think about what you did, Bruce.”

“About what _I_ did?”

“Your form of justice,” John said, “and how _hypocritical_ it turned out to be.”

Bruce’s throat went dry. “Excuse me?”

“You protected Waller,” John hissed. “You know just as well as I do that she needed to come to _justice.”_

Something quivered in Bruce’s chest. He tucked his hands into his pockets almost casually, but they curled into fists there, hard enough that his nails pressed against his palms. It was a steadying sort of pain. “The punishment should never be death. I told you before, she needed - _needs_ \- to face a jury for her crimes. I’m sorry for my part, John-”

“It’s _Joker_.”

Bruce snapped his mouth shut. John glared at him through the little gap in the door, fury written across every inch of his features. For the first time since the Pact had crumbled, Bruce actually felt relief that there was a thick slab of metal between them. He wasn’t entirely sure what John would have done if he’d been totally free; even when he’d been angry as he roamed Gotham, he hadn’t laid a finger on Bruce. 

Well, not until the very end. Bruce still carried a limp as a reminder of that last fight.

“Then I’m sorry for my part, _Joker,”_ Bruce said slowly. Somehow, the guilt didn’t seem as thick and cloying now. It was still there - Joker only existed because of Bruce, and that was a fact that he could never shake - but some of it just… slipped away in the face of John’s anger. 

John sniffed and folded his arms. “I guess I’ll take that apology now. But I’m still so _mad_ at you, Bruce.” His lip curled. “How can you stand being… _you know who_ after you protected the wrong person?”

“I think we’re done here,” Bruce said. He didn’t want to answer that, not in front of John. “It was good seeing you.”

John’s anger crumbled. “Wait, wait, you’re _leaving?”_ He rushed up to the door, and Bruce heard the thump of his body against it. “Are you gonna visit again? You should come when there’s food, Bruce, I’ll save you a spot.”

Bruce retreated, his stomach churning. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, turning away. “Goodbye, Joker.”

His fingers wiggled out through the window. “Bye, Brucie! Send a postcard!”

Once Bruce was back in his rented car, he bowed his head into his hands for a long moment as John’s question still circled around his ears. 

The thing was, John was right. Bruce had protected the wrong person, but it wasn’t Waller. In the end, she had just been doing her job - in a roundabout and terrible way, sure, and Bruce wasn’t planning on letting her get away with the whole shock collar thing, but she had been right to demand he hand over John. In the end, Bruce wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been so desperate to protect John and keep him from Waller’s clutches, and he wondered if things would have been different if he’d just traded him when he’d had the chance.

“This was a mistake,” Bruce sighed into his palms. “Shit.”

* * *

Alfred knew something was up. Of course he did; he’d raised Bruce, he’d seen him grow into the man he’d become, and he knew all of his tells. Bruce wasn’t surprised when Alfred raised an eyebrow at him as he came home late - later than usual ever since he’d given up the suit.

“Welcome home, Bruce,” Alfred said, watching him as Bruce shrugged out of his jacket. “Dinner is waiting for you. Did you manage to speak to Commissioner Gordon?”

Bruce felt his cheeks tingle. He’d gladly use that as an excuse first while he found the words to describe his experience at Arkham. “I did,” Bruce said, gently evasive. “He knows now. We’re meeting on Friday so I can explain better.”

“Will you be needing dinner that night?”

Alfred wasn’t fooled. He followed as Bruce headed for their usual dining room, the modest little one right next to the kitchen. The table was already set for the two of them, with silver domes over their food to keep it warm. Bruce took his seat opposite Alfred, and lifted the cover to reveal a delicious looking steak. He waited patiently for Alfred to sit too before he reached for his cutlery.

“Thanks for this,” he said, shooting Alfred a warm smile. “And… no I won’t. Jim and I are going to dinner.”

“I see.” A little smile tugged at the corners of Alfred’s lips. “Is this going to be a common occurrence?”

Bruce busied himself with cutting off a piece of his dinner. “I hope so,” he admitted. “We’ll see how he feels after I tell him about the whole Agency thing.”

“Ah. You didn’t delve too deeply tonight?”

“I figured just telling him I was Batman was enough this time.”

“Of course.”

They silenced themselves for a moment, tucking into their food. Bruce took comfort in the familiar taste of Alfred’s spectacular cooking, and he briefly closed his eyes to listen to the classical music playing softly from the gramophone in the corner. Altogether, it was soothing, and it gave him enough peace that he could begin to make sense of the evening’s events.

He opened them again, and he found Alfred watching him. It was a soft look, a sympathetic one.

“I thought you’d be more excited now that you’ve arranged a date with Jim,” he said gently. “What’s on your mind, Bruce?”

Bruce had to force himself to swallow his mouthful. The food suddenly seemed so tough to get down, even with the flavour of it still bursting on his tongue. Carefully, Bruce set his cutlery down on his plate and reached for his glass of water, taking a few long draughts of it to make sure his throat was clear before he even attempted to speak.

“I… went to Arkham,” Bruce admitted, setting his glass back down. “To see John.”

He heard Alfred’s sharp little inhale. “Bruce…”

“I know, I know. It… wasn’t the best idea.” Bruce sighed, reaching up to massage his temple. “I just wanted some closure, I guess. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for how things turned out, but…” He shook his head, letting his hand fall back to the table with a huff. “I shouldn’t have gone there. I think I made things worse for both of us.”

Alfred reached across the table to give Bruce’s wrist a quick squeeze. “You know, Bruce, I could put you through to my therapist,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it’ll help you reconcile a few things. It certainly helped me over the years.”

Bruce let out a long, slow exhale. He remembered Alfred’s request to admit that he worked with Batman, just to make the sessions easier; if he agreed, it would be one less person running around knowing their secret. “Thank you. That’s not a bad idea.”

Alfred gave him a little pat before retracting his hand. “I know,” he said, smiling. “My ideas usually are good ones. Now, tell me about your plans with Jim. Where are you taking him to eat?”

The change in topic was, admittedly, a relief. Bruce appreciated that about Alfred; he knew just when to neatly switch subjects, and it was usually when a solution had been offered. He felt looser, like Alfred had simply plucked the tension from him and tossed it away. 

He was definitely going to take Alfred up on that suggestion, though.

“I was thinking that pizza place we like,” Bruce said, reaching for his knife and fork again. “I don’t think Jim’s the type to like going out somewhere fancy on a first date, and that pizza is amazing anyway.”

“I agree.” Alfred nodded, a genuine smile firmly in place now that Bruce had eased up. “I think he’d like that. You could save a fancier dinner for a proposal instead, I imagine.”

 _“Alfred.”_ Bruce shot him a look, though he was used to Alfred’s teasing, and he was pleased to see him smirking. “It’s the first date, and we’re going to spend more time talking about the Agency than we are about each other. I don’t think we’ll get very far.”

“You forget that I was your eyes and ears while you were Batman,” Alfredo said, neatly resting his cutlery across his finished plate. “Trust me when I say, Bruce, that I think you two are going to be just fine.”

* * *

It was going to be a late night.

The GCPD as a building was on its last legs, still a crumbled mess of debris from Joker’s explosives. Batman - Bruce - had managed to save half of it, but the other part was in pieces. In hindsight, it was a good thing that they’d made digital copies of their records, because otherwise a good chunk of it would have been incinerated. The paper ones were long gone. The only salvageable things belonged in the precarious, but still standing, part of the headquarters.

Montoya picked her way back over to him, grimacing. “There’s not much,” she said. “We can rescue some stuff, but… we’re gonna have to start over, Jim. It’ll have to be torn down and rebuilt.”

Jim rubbed a hand across his face. He was exhausted. He’d already had that surprise from Bruce tonight, and now he was here, late, standing in the cold with Montoya, cataloguing the remains of their workplace. Just fucking fantastic. 

He hadn’t even had time to process what Bruce had said yet. _And_ he’d asked him on a date. That had sort of been a spur of the moment decision, but it was one he’d planned on making for a while anyway. 

“We can’t afford a whole new building,” Jim grumbled, scratching at his stubbly jaw. “I have no fucking idea where we’re gonna get the funds for that.”

“The mayor?” Montoya asked, raising her eyebrow.

Jim’s lips twisted in a scowl. “She won’t give us enough. We’ll get enough for an empty box, but not much else. Won’t even have enough left for a fucking paperclip.”

Montoya tapped her fingers on her folded arms, thinking. “Fundraiser?”

“I don’t wanna take people’s money like that.”

She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know then, Jim. Maybe we’ll just have to start out with that box.” 

There was one small ray of hope, Jim supposed. The office building across the street had offered them a space for the time being, and so far it had been enough to keep the GCPD plodding along. It was nowhere near the same amount of space as their old headquarters, but it was working for now. It just meant that he had to have more cops out on the beat than usual, and he had a whole lot more paperwork on his desk that otherwise went undone. 

He nudged a piece of the old ceiling with his boot. He realised with a pang that the Batsignal was long gone, too; it had been on the section of the roof that had taken the direct hit, so it was probably just a tangled mess of metal and glass. “This is useless,” he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Even if there’s records in there we could save, it’ll be trapped under a pile of rubble anyway. It’s not worth the manpower to get it back.” Jim shifted his attention to Montoya. “You can take off. I’ll hang around here for a minute and then head home.”

Montoya nodded, shoulders slumping a little. “Alright. Take it easy, Jim.”

“See you tomorrow, Renee.” Jim nodded as she left, making her way back to her car across the road. He sighed and turned back to the ruins, digging into his pocket for his packet of cigarettes.

As he took the first breath of nicotine and felt its cool relief flood his system, he shifted his thoughts ahead to the future. Sure, the GCPD was a little screwed for now, but they _would_ come back from this. They had to; Gotham needed them, especially if Batman was retiring. They were still out there, patrolling the streets and taking calls. The public didn’t need to be affected by their lack of a solid base. That was for him to worry about as commissioner.

And then there was his personal life. Bruce. 

Jim took another drag of his cigarette.

He’d admittedly liked Batman a little more than he should’ve, considering he was a cop and the other was a masked vigilante. At the start, he’d been frowned upon for working with Batman, but he was glad he’d stuck it out. Jim had known there was a good man under the cowl - it had been obvious in the way that Batman had kept civilians in mind with every move, even when it might have caused him an injury or two. He hadn’t really thought much of Bruce beyond recognising him as handsome and probably a little more pleasant than most other rich folk in Gotham, but once Bruce had revealed his identity, it had all made sense. 

Jim had been able to see the link there the second that Bruce had taken off his mask. It had been like a puzzle piece falling into place. 

It was easy to blend the two together in his mind. The conversations, the half joking flirting, the looks - it all translated now, and Jim could picture it with Bruce as easily as he could with Batman. The charming man who donated his cash rather than sitting on it and the protective vigilante were one and the same. And, unfairly, he was gorgeous and sweet and everything in between.

Jim dropped the butt of his cigarette and stepped on it to put it out. He was screwed, he decided. If he’d already had a crush on Batman and now that translated to Bruce Wayne, he was screwed.

* * *

Bruce couldn’t help being a little nervous for the first date. At any other time he was confident - he’d never been anxious about any of his flings, and he could face down a board room as easily as he could Harley Quinn - but this was a different beast entirely. Treating a one night stand to a nice dinner beforehand didn’t compare to taking out the man he’d been crushing on for… well, for far too long to count. After some indecision, he’d settled on a nice buttoned shirt and jeans; he’d tried for casual instead of formal, and he’d hit somewhere in the middle.

Jim’s eyes lit up when he met Bruce outside, his smile leaving creases in his face. The nerves in his chest settled; he’d had an inkling that Jim would enjoy the cosy atmosphere and the greasy food, and he’d been completely right.

“Not bad,” he said, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “You almost had me worried there, you know. Thought you’d take me somewhere way too fancy for me.”

Bruce held the door open for Jim, tilting his head to invite him through. “Not just yet,” he said, grinning. And then, testing the waters, he added, “Maybe another time.”

Jim laughed, warm and open. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, aren’t you?”

“I figured it couldn’t hurt to lay my cards on the table.”

They tucked themselves into a booth, settling in opposite each other. Bruce carefully eased into his seat, a hand resting on his side just as a precaution, and he almost jumped when he accidentally bumped Jim’s foot under the table. He was so hyper aware of Jim’s presence that it felt like a shock to the system, even without skin on skin contact.

Thank God he’d been wearing a gauntlet the first time he’d held Jim’s hand. Bruce didn’t think he would’ve survived.

Jim settled into his own chair, shrugging off his jacket to drape it across the back as he did. “You okay there?” he asked, frowning and nodding at Bruce’s abdomen. Bruce moved his hand away, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just my injury from the, uh, GCPD explosion.”

“Ah.” Jim grimaced. “Sorry, I don’t know how I managed to forget that.”

“Well, you have been trying to operate from only half of the building,” Bruce said, a little playfully sarcastic. “Which, actually, that reminds me of something I wanted to offer you before we get too far into the date.”

Jim tilted his head. “Alright, you got me. What is it?”

Bruce folded his hands on the table in front of him, and then, feeling a little too businesslike, he unfolded them again to drop them back into his lap. “I want to help fund the repairs, and the GCPD itself. It’s sort of part one of my plan to help Gotham where I can now that I’m not… you know.”

“This had better not be out of any kind of guilt,” Jim said, eyebrows raised. “You’ve already done enough for this city, Bruce, more than any man should ever have to. You don’t owe us a single penny.”

“It’s not guilt,” Bruce promised quickly. “I just have more money than I’ll ever use-”

“Way to brag,” Jim said dryly.

“- and I want to give it back to the city,” Bruce finished, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, it wasn’t meant to be a brag. But it’s true, I have more than I’ll ever need, so I want to give it back. The GCPD is a start for me, and to make amends for what my father did, I also want to continue the Arkham project I started with Harvey.”

Jim’s shoe bumped against his again, though it was deliberate this time. “You know you don’t have to hold yourself accountable for what Thomas did,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair on you.”

“He’s not here to own it, though.” Bruce shrugged. He’d already made peace with it long ago; he’d accepted the burden that Thomas had left behind, and he’d made the decision to repair things. Admittedly, at the time he’d also had Harvey’s backing, but he could be just as successful without. Who knew, maybe it would even help Harvey’s recovery in Arkham, too. 

Or maybe Bruce should just stop going back there to see friends who were changed beyond recognition.

Jim shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. “You’re a good man, Bruce. Far too good of a man to be in this city.”

“It’s my home. Always has been, always will, and I want to help improve things.” Bruce smiled at Jim. “I’m sure you understand that, Commissioner. Congrats on getting your old job back, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Jim grinned at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Bruce was already incredibly fond of those little wrinkles. “I wasn’t gonna let Waller take that away. Someone needed to take the reins with the GCPD down, and she kind of left in a hurry. It wasn’t that hard to get it back.”

“I’m glad. You deserve it.” 

Jim ducked his head, still smiling, and reached for a menu. “Now, how about we actually order? You made a lot of promises about this pizza, I wanna see if they hold up. I’m gonna need it before we start talking about Waller anyway.”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “It’s not as complicated as I made it sound, to be honest. She knew my identity, and she forced me to go undercover with the Pact to figure out their plans.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“More or less. That’s the short version.”

“Then I’ll take a meat feast and the long version of that story.”

Bruce took the offered menu from him. “You want that beer, too?”

“You’re a man after my own heart.” Jim settled back in his seat, pleased. He wore a new kind of smile, one Bruce had seen only glimpses of before; it was soft around the edges and full of appreciation, perhaps even affection, and it made Bruce’s stomach flip. 

He was in far too deep already, and he didn’t care one bit.

At the end of the night, after they’d talked for longer than Bruce had thought and eaten their fair share of pizza, they went their separate ways. Jim had a cab waiting and Bruce’s car was just around the corner, but before they split, Bruce gathered up the courage to give Jim a quick peck on the cheek - he wasn’t quite confident enough to go for an actual kiss just yet, if he was honest. Jim chuckled fondly as Bruce drew back, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze before he got too far.

“Have a good night, Bruce,” he said.

Bruce beamed at him. “Goodnight, Jim.”

He watched as the cab pulled away and fed into the city traffic, and only when Jim was out of sight did Bruce duck back into the pizza place to order an extra few slices to take home for Alfred. If he was lucky, maybe it would distract him enough that he wouldn’t pry about the date _too_ much.


	2. Chapter 2

Tiffany had started at Wayne Enterprises long before the mess with the Pact, but it had been a rocky beginning at best. Since things had calmed, Bruce had made a plan to make things as right as he could, and the first step was introducing Tiffany to her father’s legacy. She had visited Lucius’ workshop before, of course, but so far she hadn’t actually used it.

She had worked in the Batcave during the Waller problem, aiding Bruce and Alfred where she could, but had retreated back to Wayne Tower shortly afterwards without Bruce saying a word. He had made sure that she knew she was still welcome at Wayne Manor, though so far she had stayed at her little corner of the new hires’ office, and Bruce didn’t think that was quite appropriate for someone as important and fierce as Tiffany Fox. 

“Why are we here?” she asked, frowning as Bruce led her into his office.

“You’ll see.” 

Bruce went through the familiar motions of opening the workshop, moving the chess pieces into the right spot to reveal the elevator. Tiffany shot him a wary look, but joined him in the small space when she was waved over. 

Neither of them spoke again until they stepped out.

A painful wash of memories surfaced, and Bruce gave them their moment before he swallowed hard to compose himself. There was such a strong sense of Lucius down here still, even after so long, purely because of how much he had filled every corner of the space with something so uniquely him, whether it was technology, plans, or his own possessions. Tiffany had already drifted away, her fingers tracing over the big desk in the middle where tech still lingered, half complete. She turned, taking in the room and all of its personal touches, right down to the photo of the Fox family on his desk. Tiffany folded her arms as she stared down at his desk, still just as neat as he’d left it.

“This space,” Bruce said carefully, quietly, as he stepped closer to Tiffany, “is yours if you want it. It should belong to you. I know I’m no longer working as Batman, but this is yours. You can use it for whatever you want.”

Tiffany was still silent. She reached out to pick up the little cat trinket, turning it over in her hands. The calendar was still turned to last month, Bruce noticed, half crossed off, and Lucius’ last note was right there on his desk, a reminder to himself:

_Tiffany’s first day! Dinner @ 7:30._

Bruce’s heart squeezed painfully. God, he missed Lucius.

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tiffany said eventually, quietly. She set the trinket down again, right back where it had been. “I… didn’t even think to ask about this place.”

“It’s yours now.” Bruce reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, just lightly and briefly, and she didn’t shrug him off. “When we get back upstairs, I’ll show you the combination. You’ve already got all the credentials you need for the computer and the safe. You can come down here anytime you like, whether it’s for work or not. It’s yours.”

Tiffany nodded wordlessly. Bruce didn’t push her.

When she inhaled, her breath was shaky, but it came out smoothly when she exhaled again. “Thank you. If it’s okay, I’ll just… take a minute down here. I wanna take a look around.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded, letting his hand drop. “Give me a call if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”

“I will,” Tiffany said. She drew out Lucius’ old chair, and she sunk into it, fingers splayed across the open space of the desk. Bruce watched long enough to see her reach for his notebooks, and then he retreated back into the lift, leaving Tiffany to simply exist in Lucius’ old home away from home. He hoped that it would give her some peace of mind to have access to that part of him, to the space that he had occupied, and to see just how much of a mark Lucius Fox had left on Gotham.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, as it always was when it was just Bruce and Alfred. They preferred to share idle chatter over their meal while music played softly in the background, and neither cared if the other read or texted while they ate. Bruce had always liked that about Alfred; while he spoke formally, the man himself could be incredibly relaxed when it came to just the two of them. 

“So, Bruce.”

He glanced up from his phone, his finger hovering over the screen. “Yes?”

Alfred neatly folded up the evening edition of the _Gotham Gazette,_ and he picked up his cutlery again as he shifted his focus to Bruce. “I forgot to ask how your dinner with Jim went. How are things?”

Bruce felt his cheeks heat. He locked his phone with a quick press of his thumb, and cleared his throat gently before replying. “Good, I think. He took it well, and dinner was nice. We’re going out again in a couple of days.”

“Marvellous.” Alfred smiled, warm and genuine. “I’m glad the reveal didn’t harm your relationship. It sounds like it only improved it.”

That was one way of putting it, Bruce supposed. Still trying to will his blush away, Bruce cut off a bite of his chicken, hoping maybe the distraction of food would help. “Well, the feelings were definitely mutual,” he admitted. “He didn’t shoot down the idea of a second date, so I’d say things are going well.” Looking up, Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What about you, Alfred? Is there anyone special you haven’t told me about?”

“Not right now.” Alfred chuckled quietly, clearly more than aware of Bruce’s deflection. “Now that things are calmer, perhaps I might find someone to settle down with. For now, though, I’ll leave it to you. Do keep me updated, won’t you? You’re not the only one who’s fond of Jim, though we certainly have different definitions there.”

Bruce ducked his gaze, flustered. A lifetime of his relationships appearing in the papers could never have prepared him for this. “I will,” he mumbled around his mouthful, feeling almost like an embarrassed teen all over again. 

Alfred’s soft answering laughter took the sting out of the teasing, though, and Bruce smiled. He’d have to bring Jim over for dinner at some point; he would get along very well with Alfred indeed.

* * *

Iman was waiting for him in the lobby when Bruce entered Wayne Tower that morning. She tapped away on her ever present tablet, making notes and flicking through menus idly, but she glanced up when Bruce approached, and she beamed at him.

“Morning, Bruce,” she said. “How are you doing?”

A warm smile rose naturally to Bruce’s face. He liked Iman; she’d grown on him throughout his involvement with the Agency, and he’d been more than happy to offer her a job when she had eventually turned against Waller. There was, potentially, still the tricky matter of the Agency trying to keep their hands on her, but Bruce could give her a small sense of security as long as she remained in Gotham. Outside the city, he was powerless against the Agency; inside it, he had control, and as much as Waller disliked him, he hoped that he would stick to the terms of their deal.

“Good morning, Iman,” he replied, nodding towards her. “Nervous for your first day?”

“A little.” She swept her hair back behind her ear, an ever present habit that Bruce had noticed she performed when she was concentrating or anxious. He felt a brief pang of guilt when it revealed one of her hearing aids, but he knew better than to mention it. “It’s… a lot to get used to, jumping from agent to COO, but I think I’m getting a handle on it.”

“You can call me anytime if you need any help,” Bruce promised her. He continued towards the elevator at the end of the corridor, and Iman fell into step beside him. “Have you seen your office yet?”

Iman shook her head. Bruce pressed the number of the correct floor, and leaned back against the elevator wall to wait, grinning. “Then let’s go see it.”

Bruce’s was, predictably, one of the highest in Wayne Tower, simply by nature of where the CEO’s office was already located. Iman’s, however, was just below, and when Bruce stepped out to lead the way, he was pleased to see that the shiny plate bearing Iman’s name was already present on the door.

_Iman Avesta, COO._

It had a good ring to it.

“Here we are.” Bruce gestured towards the door. “After you, _COO.”_

Iman ducked her head, embarrassed briefly, but pressed ahead to open the door.

It was a grand room, with far more space than Iman would ever need - that was something that Bruce knew from experience. So far, it was a little plain with just a desk and a couch, but that would change once Iman got to decorating. Bruce stood by the door, hands in his pockets, and watched as Iman lowered her tablet to her side to simply stare in awe. Her fingers lingered on the polished wood of her desk, as if she just needed to make sure it was real.

“This is… _amazing,_ ” she breathed. “All I had back at the Agency was a _cubicle._ ”

Bruce chuckled. “I can see how this is a little bit of an upgrade.”

“It’s more than just a _little_ one.” Iman turned back to grin at him again, pure delight written across her face. She set her tablet down on her desk, rounding it to take her seat. “Well, don’t be a stranger, Bruce. Come sit.”

He laughed more openly as he crossed the room. He settled in on the chair on the other side of her desk, still amused at the way she just _touched_ everything, tracing her fingertips across the keyboard, the mouse, the computer screen. It was endearing, and it reminded Bruce that not everyone was used to the same fortunate position that he had simply grown up with.

“Thank you, Miss Avesta,” he teased. “Let me know if there’s anything you need, by the way. I’ll be happy to source it.”

“I appreciate that.” Iman sent him a warm little glance, and then shifted her attention back to the computer as she logged in. Bruce had set up her credentials once Iman had accepted the job, and sent them back to her immediately so she was ready to go. “So, how are things with you? How’s Batman?”

“Ah, about that…” Bruce shifted uncomfortably. He knew Iman was a big fan, but he admittedly hadn’t even thought about telling her. The three that had sprung to mind were Alfred, Jim, and Tiffany, and they all already knew. Maybe he needed to stop letting people in on the secret he kept; it was getting hard to keep track. “I’m… not continuing that project.”

To his surprise, Iman just nodded. “I understand,” she said. “What happened with Joker…” She trailed off, her brows furrowed. “It was dangerous. Granted, it was the Agency that escalated it to the whole situation at ACE Chemicals, but…” Iman met his gaze again, steady. “I get it, Bruce. You need to look out for yourself. Besides, I think you’ve earned an early retirement.”

“An early retirement at thirty-seven,” Bruce laughed, rubbing his forehead. “Good thing I’m still working here. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d find something.” Iman snickered along with him.

“Speaking of,” Bruce said, “I need to write my speech for tomorrow’s conference. Call me if you need anything, though. It doesn’t matter if it’s nothing to do with work.”

“Of course.” As Bruce stood to leave, Iman reached out, catching his wrist. She had softened, and Bruce knew what he was seeing was pure gratitude. “Thank you, Bruce,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d be doing now if you hadn’t offered me this. I wouldn’t be at the Agency, that’s for sure.”

Bruce settled his hand over hers in a fond pat. “Iman, you were a key part of taking down the Agency’s hold here, and you’re an amazing friend. It was no trouble at all.” Something tickled at the corner of his mind, and shifted forwards to become a question. “The Agency hasn’t bothered you, has it?”

Iman frowned. She retracted her hand so she could tuck her hair back behind her ear again. “I haven’t heard a peep. It’s… odd. I thought they would put up more of a fight.”

There were two options, one a little more dangerously close to Batman than Bruce liked. He could pretend to ignore the Agency, simply forget that they had ever existed, and move on with his life. That was the ideal move, and the one that Bruce had been going with ever since he’d resolved the issue with the Agency’s occupation of Gotham.

Or he could ask someone - Iman, Tiffany, Jim, the Batcomputer, any one of the above - to keep an eye on them.

Bruce decided to go with option one.

“Well, hopefully Waller’s sticking to her deal and is leaving Gotham alone.” Bruce knew he still sounded troubled, but he didn’t care to hide it, not in front of Iman. She had been as tangled in the Agency’s web as he had. 

“Hopefully,” Iman agreed, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Bruce shook it off. “Anyway, anything you need, give me a call. Or you can visit.” He smiled again, pointing up. “I’m only upstairs.”

“Thanks again for everything, Bruce.” Iman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes now; the lines etched in on either side, brought on by worry, deepened. “Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

Bruce closed the door behind himself, and he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. As far as he knew, Waller was a woman of her word, and she hadn’t gone back on their deal yet. He just had to pray that she wouldn’t.

* * *

Wayne Enterprises made its first formal announcement of Bruce’s plans two weeks after the events of Waller’s kidnapping. In that time, Bruce and Jim had their second date, during which they decided to firmly leave business out of future dinners. That promise alone gave Bruce hope for the future of their relationship, though the fact that they made plans for a third date that same night also made their intentions pretty clear.

Bruce made the announcement himself on the steps of Wayne Tower, standing at a podium with the board, the head of Arkham Asylum, and Jim behind him, though the latter was strictly acting as the commissioner right now. Out in the crowd he could see the familiar faces of reporters and other businessmen but, most importantly, members of the GCPD he knew were also gathered to hear what he said.

“Thank you for coming,” Bruce began, offering a polite smile to one of the many cameras pointed his way. “First, I wanted to thank the GCPD for its quick adaptation after the unfortunate incident that occurred two weeks ago. Gotham is still being made a safer place every day due to their efforts, even with limited resources, in the wake of the Pact. To help with the repair process and show our gratitude, Wayne Enterprises will not only be covering the construction costs of a new headquarters, but will also continue to support the GCPD when needed in the hope of securing Gotham’s safety.”

There was a smattering of polite applause, and a few shared glances. Bruce had decided to leave out Batman’s disappearance - it had felt a little too obvious, a little too bold when he was leaving that chapter behind him - though he knew it hadn’t gone unnoticed. His support for the force was _because_ of that, to try to patch up the gap he was leaving in their resources.

“Secondly,” Bruce continued, “I wanted to continue with a project that had, previously, fallen to the wayside. I, personally, will be funding the development of Arkham Asylum, in the hope that it can be turned into a better facility with the tools to help its patients. I believe that with the right support, Arkham can become a place of healing, and with the development of the GCPD too, Gotham can become a city that we are all proud of.”

The clapping started up again, and Bruce bowed his head in recognition. With the end of his speech, the press began to raise their hands, and Bruce fell into the usual ebb and flow of questions. Most were easy to answer while others were a simple ‘I can’t comment on that’, including the part he had played in the Pact. That was a separate issue entirely, one that he had now divulged to the GCPD officially, and they had all decided it was for the best to simply keep as few details out of the public eye as possible. The press would have a field day if they knew some of the things Bruce had had to do to keep his cover for as long as he had.

When it came to a close, Bruce and the board retreated back into Wayne Tower, stretching and chattering amongst themselves. Bruce stood by the doors to welcome them back inside, away from prying eyes, and smiled when Jim joined the queue to shuffle inside. He waited until the rest had dispersed before he spoke.

“I hope that didn’t turn you off,” he said, nodding back towards the doors. “It always sounds so obnoxious, but the board likes it when I speak corporate.”

“No, it was just the right amount of rich asshole,” Jim teased, his eyes sparkling. “You got any plans tonight?”

“That was my last obligation. Why?”

“Go change into something comfier and come with me. I’m taking you back to mine for dinner.”

Bruce bit back a smile. “Alright, I didn’t know you could be so demanding. I thought you would be working tonight.”

Jim was already smiling, and he shrugged. “I asked Montoya to switch shifts with me. Figured I’d surprise you and cook you dinner after your tough day of being Bruce Wayne.”

“I’ll go get changed in my office.” Bruce could barely contain his grin. “I’ll be ten minutes. You can come up if you want, see how it is when you’re not arresting me.”

“Oh, God,” Jim groaned, and then, quietly, he added, “I tried to arrest Batman. _Shit.”_

Bruce laughed, and pulled Jim along with a quick tug on his fingers. “It’s fine, you were just doing your job. In your defence, you thought I was suddenly running with a pack of criminals.”

“It did kinda look that way.” Jim stepped into the elevator with him, and leaned back against the railing as they rose up Wayne Tower. Bruce settled in next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“And I didn’t wanna get you in anymore trouble with Waller,” Bruce added. “I caused enough of that in the first place.”

“I appreciated the loyalty, though. It was nice to know how much our partnership meant to you.”

Bruce gave him a gentle nudge. “It’s always meant a lot to me, Jim.”

The doors slid open to reveal the corridor before Bruce’s office - and only Bruce’s office. It had its own fancy door to go with it that Bruce opened up a tad sheepishly as he waved Jim ahead of him. “I’ll be just a minute,” he said, heading for one of the side rooms. “Make yourself at home.” 

He tucked himself into his little walk-in closet to change out of his suit - something that had been incredibly useful over the years, if only for quick Batman changes both before and after patrols - and by the time he was back outside in jeans and a nice shirt, Jim had settled into Bruce’s chair.

Bruce stopped in his tracks, laughter bubbling up through his chest. “Seriously?”

“What?” Jim spread his hands as he idly turned the chair from side to side. “You said I could make myself at home. Of course I was gonna sit in your chair. What else was I gonna do, look at all of your certificates? Play chess?”

Bruce offered him a hand, and Jim rose up again to take it. It was only a quick hold - a brief squeeze and then a drop again as they headed for the door - but it sent warmth flooding up Bruce’s arm. “Well,” he said, calling the elevator again, “if you’d played chess, you would’ve found my secret workshop.”

“Alright, now you’re just making shit up.”

“I’m not,” Bruce laughed. “It was where Lucius worked on my tech. It’s Tiffany’s now.”

Jim shot him a curious little look. Bruce avoided his gaze as he gently pressed down on the familiar feeling of grief in his chest; he was, unfortunately, more than aware that it likely wouldn’t ever fade, but it would become easier to deal with over time. “Tiffany Fox?” Jim asked, and Bruce nodded, glad to have the distraction.

“Yeah. She’s been modifying the Bat stuff for a little while now. She usually works back at the Manor, but-”

“Don’t tell me. You’ve got a secret hideout at home.”

Bruce managed a little smirk. “Well, I wasn’t gonna keep everything Batman here, was I?”

* * *

Jim lived in a humble little house. It was still close to the city centre - well within walking distance of the GCPD if he really needed to go on foot - but in a nice enough area, away from the usually grim parts of Gotham. It was a little worn, as most things were in this city, except this seemed to feel it in a well loved kind of way. 

Bruce immediately loved it.

“I hope you don’t mind waiting a little,” Jim said as they headed inside. “I didn’t start anything before I left.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Bruce followed him in, toeing off his shoes at the door. The inside of his house was cosily small. From the hallway, Bruce could see both the living room and the kitchen, and he opted to tag along into the latter. “I can help, if you want.”

“I said _I_ was cooking dinner,” Jim said, lightly swatting at Bruce’s arm as he leaned against the counter near Jim. “You can hang out in here if you want, but I’m doing the work.”

“I think you’ll find I’m a pretty great sous chef. Just ask Alfred.”

Jim paused in bringing down pots and pans to feign surprise. “You’re not telling me you actually cook back at that big old house of yours?”

Bruce chuckled. “I help on occasion. Mostly it depends on when Alfred lets me.”

He seemed to size Bruce up for a second. “Then I guess you can lend a hand.” Jim shook his head with a fond smile. “Come here.”

Jim led the way in cooking a modest pasta dish. It seemed relatively simple at first, but Bruce found himself being enchanted by the way Jim seemed to keep pulling out new tricks; he had a whole hidden shelf of spices and herbs that he picked through, and while he set Bruce up chopping vegetables for a homemade sauce, he remained secretive about what he was doing with the meat on the other counter. Once things started cooking, Bruce found himself taking deep breaths just to try and get a glimpse of what the finished product would be like.

Bruce had always enjoyed the bits and pieces of cooking he’d done. Alfred had taught him plenty, enough that Bruce could easily feed himself like any other adult, but Alfred simply enjoyed it aside from his work duties. Either way, Bruce hadn’t had much time to spare between work and Batman anyway, not enough to make complicated meals. 

This, though, was _fun._ He and Jim teased and laughed as they made their dinner, and Bruce was so caught up in it that he looped an arm around Jim to kiss his temple.

He didn’t expect Jim to catch him by the front of his shirt and tug him in for an _actual_ kiss.

Time seemed to pause for a moment. Bruce felt himself slow down as his world narrowed to the feeling of Jim’s lips on his, the bristle of his moustache against his skin. He could taste a little bit of the sauce from where Jim had tested it, and while it was absolutely fantastic so far, he was more focused on the unique _something_ underneath that must have just been Jim himself. 

The clock on Jim’s wall ticked, and they parted, though they didn’t go very far.

Bruce’s cheeks were on fire. He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip around Jim’s waist, keeping him tucked into his side. “That was a nice surprise.”

“I got tired of dancing around it,” Jim admitted, sheepish. Bruce was sure that there was a flush on Jim's face too, just like there had been when he’d asked Bruce out in the first place. “I figured now was as good a time as any. You were already over here.”

“Well, since I’m _still_ over here…”

Bruce leaned in again, unable to help himself, and he grinned when he felt Jim’s smile against his lips. This was perfect, _domestic_ \- something Bruce hadn’t even realised he was missing.

He wanted to keep going, to chase him for more, but he forced himself to pull away when he heard telltale bubbling from the stove. “We’d better stop before we burn something,” he said, gently untangling himself from Jim.

“Why do you have to be the sensible one for once?” Jim grumbled. He gave Bruce’s cheek another peck, and then turned back, spoon still in hand. 

Bruce squeezed him around the middle, and then reluctantly let go. “It won’t last long,” he joked. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll go back to being a menace.”

Jim smiled at him over his shoulder. “Good. I like you being a menace. Could you get some plates for me? This is almost done.”

Within minutes, they were settling down at the dining table crammed into Jim’s kitchen, across from each other once again. Bruce idly slipped a foot between Jim’s to rest there on the tile, and they shared the occasional touch across the table as they ate. And, as much as he adored Alfred’s cooking, Bruce realised that there was something satisfying about eating a meal that he and Jim had made together. Maybe it was the fact that he’d helped make it with his own two hands, or maybe it was the way they sunk into Jim’s squishy couch to watch a little television before Bruce went home.

Or, just maybe, it was the extra few kisses they shared that tasted like the herbs Jim had picked out.

* * *

With the Wayne Enterprises money to smooth things along, construction began quickly on the GCPD headquarters. Jim helped move over whatever furniture could be saved - though it wasn’t much more than a desk or two that had miraculously survived the blast - and picked through any trash that came up in case it was important, professionally or personally. There wasn’t much. 

He cleared the plans with the architect, confirmed that they were ready to start, and then watched as the last pieces of the wreckage were torn down. 

It was bittersweet. Jim had spent so much of his life working in that building, had risen to the height of his career here, and now it was gone. Every bit of it was hauled away, even the last pieces of yellow glass that could have only been from the Batsignal. It would be a new era for the GCPD, one created on their own foundations.

On the bright side, he actually had Batman himself now. He was still a little sore about the broken Batsignal, though. He was sure that Bruce shared that sentiment.

But it was beginning to come together. Jim glanced over at it every morning when he arrived for work, taking in the progress that had been made. It likely wouldn’t be too long before it was completed. Once again, he had Wayne Enterprises to thank for that; he was sure that they had hired a pretty good construction company, so no doubt they were working through the build as quickly and neatly as possible. The new GCPD building would be all shiny and ready to go in no time. This time, there would even be money left over to buy everything they needed to furnish it, too.

Bruce really was too good to this city. Jim didn’t consider it a personal gift, and he hoped that nobody else would when they eventually discovered the true nature of their relationship. 

In the end, it was for Gotham’s future. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say before, but if you want to find me on tumblr, I'm at [capedcommissioner](https://capedcommissioner.tumblr.com/)!

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce didn’t enjoy board meetings that much. There was a lot of talking with not much doing, and half the time they didn’t even need Bruce to be present. Today was one such time, and as the conversation droned on without his input, he felt the weight of his phone in his pocket, and the temptation to be just a little bit unprofessional grew. 

Nobody would notice. He could always say it was business.

His phone buzzed anyway. Bruce tried not to look too interested as he took it out to glance at the screen, and then did his best to keep the butterflies in his chest to himself.

Jim.

_ Hey, Bruce. What’re you up to? _

_ Board meeting,  _ Bruce replied.  _ So not very exciting. How’s your day off been? _

_ Funny you should say that. Do you wanna come over for dinner tonight? _

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile.  _ Sure. Have you got plans? Sounds like you’re trying to wine and dine me. _

_ Maybe I am.  _

_ Bold. Maybe I should bring an overnight bag. _

_ You can if you want. I’ve only got the one bedroom though, so you’ll either have to be alright with sharing. That, or I can always take the couch. _

His chest fluttered again. Jim seemed gruff, but he was actually one of the most respectful men Bruce had ever dated. It was nice to take their time with this, to wander along at their own pace; Bruce had already planned to do that from the outset, but experiencing it was refreshing.

Jim didn’t need to worry about him being uncomfortable over sharing, though.

_ I don’t think I’ll mind sharing, Jim. What time do you want me there? _

_ Let’s say 6. I’ll have dinner ready, you can let yourself in when you get here. _

_ Then I’ll see you at 6. _

Bruce slipped his phone back into his pocket and shot a quick look around at the board. Nobody seemed to have noticed, and if they had, they weren’t interested in calling him out on it. They were probably sneaking glances at their own phones under the table anyway if they weren’t actively engaged in the conversation.

Plastering on a polite smile, Bruce went back to pretending to pay attention, but he was already thinking ahead to dinner with Jim.

* * *

Before Bruce made his way to Jim’s house, he stopped by home to grab some clothes and let Alfred know where he was going. He almost felt like a giddy teenager all over again despite not being too far off his fortieth birthday, and he knew it was obvious when he saw Alfred’s amused little smile.

“Have a good evening, Bruce,” he said, chuckling. “Tell Jim I said hello, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Bruce said, hastily tying the laces on his sneakers. There was no need to look too well dressed if he was staying the night anyway; Jim would see him in a t-shirt and sweats at some point tonight, so he’d decided on nice but comfortable clothes until then. A jacket and jeans had sufficed.

“You should bring him here for dinner soon,” Alfred added as Bruce stood and swung his backpack onto one shoulder. “It’d be nice to see him as a friend, not as the commissioner.”

“I’ll make sure to invite him here for our next dinner,” Bruce promised. “Have a good night, Alfred.”

There was a sparkle in Alfred’s eye as he watched Bruce head for the door. “You too, Bruce.”

He took his more subtle car to Jim’s place in the hope that nobody would notice him. The last thing he needed tonight was reporters following him only to realise that he was staying at Commissioner Gordon’s house overnight; he could, unfortunately, see the headlines already. He parked on Jim’s driveway - his own car must have been tucked into the garage to leave Bruce with a space - and let himself in, only to be met with delicious scent of cooked meat and the clatter of utensils from the kitchen. His mouth began to water before he even saw what Jim was cooking.

“Hey,” Bruce called, making his way through to the kitchen. Jim had his back to him as he worked at the counter, but he turned to meet Bruce for a quick kiss as he looped his arm around Jim’s middle. “What’re you making?”

“You’ll see.” Jim gently slapped at Bruce’s hand. “Go sit down, you’re not supposed to be helping this time.” 

Obediently, Bruce took a seat at the table, but he twisted to continue facing Jim. He dropped his chin into his hand, grinning. “It smells good,” he said. Then, taking a deeper breath, he added, “ _ Really _ good.”

“Thanks.” Jim glanced over at him, and Bruce almost melted where he sat. Another taste of the domesticity he’d felt last time left him feeling warm all the way through, chasing away the last chill that always seemed to linger in Gotham. “How was the rest of your day?”

“More meetings. Just stuff to do with Wayne Enterprises and a little about the donations to the GCPD and Arkham.”

“Any developments there?”

Bruce blew out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “Not yet. Arkham are still being a little difficult. They want the money, but they want to do things their way - the old way.”

“Greedy bastards,” Jim snorted. He moved away from the oven to begin assembling something on two plates. Bruce decided to behave this time and not peek around him; he’d wait for Jim to reveal it. “You’d think they’d be a little more willing to bend when one of their ex-patients is the one doing the donating.”

“It was a struggle just to get where we are now.” Bruce turned back to face the table as Jim approached to serve their dinner, stretching his legs out underneath it in preparation to tangle with Jim’s. He’d found he was pretty fond of doing that; it was nice just to rest against each other and take in the quiet physical affection.

“If anyone can convince them, it’s you,” Jim said, confident. “Now, these probably aren’t up to your usual standards, but…”

Jim laid down their plates, and Bruce’s stomach snarled. He’d almost forgotten that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, but the sight of Jim’s burgers would’ve made him hungry regardless. The buns were toasted, and the burger itself was layered with a thick patty along with a healthy helping lettuce and tomato, and Bruce was sure there were more delicious secrets hidden underneath judging by his previous experience with Jim’s cooking. There were fries too, though they looked homemade, and seemed like they were coated in a little spice. Bruce very nearly whined, and he hadn’t even taken a bite yet.

“This looks  _ amazing _ .”

Jim puffed out his chest a little, looking pleased with himself. “Thanks. Feel free to dig in. You want a beer?” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re not planning on driving home, that is?”

Bruce reached for the burger, but detoured for a fry instead after Jim asked that particular question. “No, I’ll stay here tonight if that offer’s still there,” he said, almost a little shyly. “And yeah, I’ll take a beer if you’re having one. Holy  _ shit, _ Jim, this is good.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear as much as I have these last few weeks,” Jim chuckled. He grabbed a bottle opener, bumped the drawer closed again with his hip, and made his way over to join Bruce. 

“That’s just because I don’t do it in public.” Bruce shot him a playful wink, and then finally scooped up the burger to take a bite while Jim opened their drinks.

The sound that came out of him was almost pornographic.

It was completely unintentional - Bruce was just hungry, and Jim had put some kind of sauce on the burger that made his mouth water - and he didn’t even realise that he’d made the sound at first. It wasn’t until there was a distant tinkle of a beer bottle cap that landed somewhere on the kitchen floor that he noticed that Jim was staring at him.

Staring and blushing a little as beer fizzed onto his fingers. Jim looked away, busying himself with the other bottle.

Bruce felt his face begin to burn.

Calmly, he chewed, swallowed, and said, “It’s, uh… it’s really good. Thank you.”

Jim cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “I’m… I’m glad you like it.”

He accepted the offered beer and took a few quick gulps, hoping it might wash away his embarrassment. Bruce hadn’t had any expectations when he’d decided to stay over at Jim’s, preferring instead to let things take their natural course in their relationship. Rather than picture things or even suggest it, Bruce had gladly settled on the idea of just tucking into bed with Jim later to enjoy the warmth of him at his side. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t screwed up with that sort of slip. 

Although, judging by the way Jim was still a little flushed as he started on his own dinner, Bruce wondered if maybe the night would finish a little more interestingly than he’d originally hoped for.

The rest of their meal passed without a hitch, their conversation resuming after a moment to recover. Bruce almost forgot about it, truth be told, and instead wrapped himself up in the warm chatter with Jim and the comfort of a full stomach. They gradually moved to the living room where they settled into a corner of the couch together, with Bruce’s arm draped across the back behind Jim’s shoulders. They flipped over to some movie they didn’t care to pay full attention to, and Bruce felt the last dregs of the day’s tension draining out of him. 

He could get used to this. Sure, Bruce had had his fair share of dating around and quick one night stands, but  _ this _ was perfect.

_ Especially _ with Jim. They were only a few weeks in, but he couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Idly, Bruce pecked Jim’s cheek, right where it wrinkled when he smiled.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to be such an affectionate little bastard,” Jim chuckled, leaning into the kiss. “Your whole gruff Batman thing kinda made it seem like you were the loner type. Didn’t think you’d be hanging off of me once we actually got here.”

“I can stop if you like,” Bruce said, though he lingered with his nose pressed to the same spot, simply resting there.

Jim huffed. “Don’t you dare. I like it.”

He turned to catch Bruce’s lips in a gentle kiss, and Bruce hummed into it quietly. It was just as nice as it had been last time, and he chased Jim for a second slow press just to be a little greedy. He felt more than heard Jim’s laugh as he met Bruce halfway for more. Jim’s moustache tickled a little where Bruce kept himself cleanshaven, but it quickly faded amongst other sensations, and besides, it was so Jim that Bruce was already incredibly fond of it.

And then Jim’s hand rested lightly on Bruce’s knee, and his whole world narrowed down to that one spot. He felt the press of Jim’s fingers, the way he gently squeezed just above where the joint started to become thigh, and Bruce was suddenly very aware of the heat that flooded his veins.

It had, admittedly, been a while.

It didn’t stop Bruce from kissing Jim a little harder, though.

They parted a few moments later, and Bruce took the chance to suck down a few quick breaths. The pink tinge to Jim’s cheeks was far too tempting, and he very nearly went right back in to kiss him again. If it was anyone else, Bruce would have, but he wanted to do this right.

Jim, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be thinking that hard about it.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he leaned in again, pulling Bruce back down into another flurry of kisses. 

Bruce’s reservations melted away in an instant. He found himself clutching at Jim’s shirt, holding onto him for dear life through the give and take as his blood pounded in his ears. Jim’s hand skated up to cup Bruce’s cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of his palm with a quiet little noise that he definitely didn’t decide to make. 

Internally, Bruce cursed himself as he put just a couple of inches between them. “We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to,” he said between pants. He’d gotten so worked up so quickly - there was, admittedly, an obvious bulge in his jeans that he was steadfastly ignoring so far - and he wanted to make sure Jim knew where they were before they went any further. “I would absolutely be on board with it, but if you want to take things slower-”

“Bruce,” Jim interrupted, raising an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t have invited you to stay the night if I wasn’t okay with more.” Then, more teasingly, he said, “I didn’t expect you to be so chivalrous.”

“I’m trying to make a point, Jim,” Bruce said, laughing despite himself. “I’m not in this just for sex. I know that the press likes to paint things that way whenever they see me, but that’s not what this is.”

Jim’s fingers found his own, slotting into the gaps between Bruce’s comfortably. He was smiling, looking a little amused as he did so. “I already figured that out. It’s not like you were trying to get into my pants on our first date.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have said no,” Bruce joked. Jim snorted, shaking his head fondly, as Bruce continued. “This has always been more than just a fling, so I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not waiting around just to sleep with you. I don’t mind.  _ We _ matter much more to me.”

Something softened in Jim’s gaze. He squeezed Bruce’s fingers. “It’s mutual, Bruce,” he promised. “But, in case you hadn’t noticed, I was pretty damn happy to continue.” Jim smiled as he got to his feet, tugging on Bruce’s hand with a tilt of his head. “So you wanna take this upstairs?”

Bruce desperately wanted to launch himself to his feet, but with his side still barely beginning to heal, he settled for pulling himself up with Jim’s hand. Right now it wasn’t easy to forget that he needed to be gentle with himself, and if he was honest, Bruce was thankful that he’d given up Batman for that one reason alone: he needed time to physically heal, and plenty of it.

They were already kissing again by the time they reached Jim’s bedroom, though. With permission granted now, Bruce let his hands slide under the hem of Jim’s shirt, just to get a taste of the bare skin underneath. His stomach was a little on the softer side, but underneath that there was hard muscle from the years of physical work from being a cop in Gotham. Bruce hummed against Jim’s lips as he settled his hands on his hips, tugging him in closer as he blindly felt his way towards the bed. In hindsight, it might have been a good idea to get the lay of the land  _ before _ he’d thrown himself back into making out with Jim.

His calves bumped the edge of the mattress soon enough, though, and he eased himself down onto it, using his grip on Jim to pull him down with him. Jim had kept his hands to himself for the most part, but now that they were here, he shoved Bruce’s t-shirt higher up his torso. 

Bruce winced. “You, uh, mind helping me get that off?” he asked, gesturing to his shirt. “It’s a little difficult right now with the-”

“Oh, shit, I forgot.” Jim’s brows furrowed as he turned his attention to Bruce’s abdomen. The wound was still carefully dressed, mostly thanks to Alfred’s handiwork; he’d also had the forethought to bring supplies to change it if needed, though it had slipped Bruce’s mind now in the heat of the moment. “Are you okay? You gotta let me know if it hurts.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce said, reaching for Jim again. Okay, so maybe it was a little achy, but he’d taken some painkillers before coming over and he had some more in his bag, too. Besides, Bruce desperately wanted Jim, and unless his side was suddenly in a bad state, he was willing to ignore it for some pleasure. “Just maybe don’t try throwing me around just yet.”

“Shame, ‘cause that’s a pretty nice picture.” Carefully, Jim slotted between Bruce’s legs, and reached down to pull his shirt up and over his head. Bruce shook his head once he was free, trying to shake his hair back into place, but he knew it was a lost cause now anyway with how the evening was progressing.

Jim tossed his shirt behind him onto the floor, only for his own to quickly follow it. Once he’d planted his elbows on either side of Bruce’s shoulders, he came to hover over him to kiss him again, and he managed to align their hips  _ just _ right. 

Bruce’s hands curled at Jim’s shoulders, gripping firm muscle with a surprised noise. The first press had been an accident, but Bruce rocked up again deliberately, and his toes curled with a muffled groan when he realised Jim rolled into the movement, too. The next followed naturally, and it took everything Bruce had to keep from just whining as his hands skated down Jim’s back, both just to map out all of this new ground and to desperately find some way to hold on.

“Fuck, Bruce,” Jim murmured, muffled where he was busy kissing Bruce’s jaw. He shivered against him, hips jerking down against Bruce’s as they lost their rhythm for a split second. Bruce felt Jim’s teeth gently scrape against his skin, and almost mourned the loss when Jim clearly thought better of it; unfortunately, Bruce was always in the public eye, so maybe hickeys weren’t the best idea.

“You can go lower,” Bruce offered, tilting his head back against the bed. 

Jim’s breath puffed against Bruce’s neck, hot and damp. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Bruce laughed. “We’ve barely gotten started, Jim, and you’re worried about that?”

“Alright, shut up.” Jim came up to kiss Bruce again, silencing their shared laughter. “Can I get these jeans off of you already?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Grinning, Bruce raised his hips a little - not to bump against Jim’s, though that was a nice side effect of it - and snaked a hand down towards his belt. Jim slapped his hands away. “Hey, that’s my job.”

“If that’s your job, then this is mine.” Bruce detoured, going for Jim’s button and zipper instead. He was rewarded with Jim’s quiet cursing under the sound of his own belt jingling. As soon as there was some slack in Jim’s trousers, Bruce shoved his hands underneath to skim his hands over his hips, his thighs, and around to his ass.

Jim yanked Bruce’s jeans down, shooting him an amused look. “Being a little handsy, aren’t you?”

“I think it’d be a crime not to be with this right here,” Bruce said, and then, smirking, he added,  _ “Commissioner.” _

Jim groaned, though it wasn’t from pleasure. It trailed off into a laugh as he let Bruce’s jeans drop to the floor. “God, don’t start that shit. You can’t bring up work in the bedroom like that.”

“So you’re telling me you  _ didn’t _ want to fuck Batman?”

Jim inhaled sharply. He was already blushing with arousal, but Bruce swore that his cheeks darkened further. “Alright, point taken, smartass. Thought I told you to shut up anyway?”

Bruce tugged on Jim’s hips, trying to urge him closer again. He was so tantalisingly close, almost enough for Bruce to get back to grinding, but he was just short. “I will if you come back down here.”

He didn’t need anymore convincing. Bruce hummed into the kiss as Jim settled over him again, greedily welcoming the warmth of his skin against his own. He belatedly realised that he hadn’t managed to get Jim’s trousers much further than his thighs, but that didn’t matter; they were far enough that Jim could still slot between his legs, and that was all that Bruce cared about. He didn’t even care about the obvious wet spot on his own underwear.

Jim’s hand landed on Bruce’s uninjured thigh, simply touching, and then he hooked Bruce’s leg around his hip. Bruce couldn’t help the noise that slipped out from between his teeth as it dragged him closer, pressed their dicks together through the cotton of their underwear. “Fuck,” he hissed against Jim’s lips, his grasping taking on a frantic edge. 

Jim answered him with a wordless groan as they rocked again, and Bruce was fairly sure he saw stars. He could  _ feel _ Jim, feel how hot and hard he was, and Bruce tightened his grip on him as his head spun. His head dropped back against the comforter again as he rolled up to meet Jim, and he realised how embarrassingly close he was already. It really had been a little while since Bruce had even had time to himself, and now that he was where he’d wanted to be for some time, he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

He was so caught up in their desperate kissing and grinding that he didn’t realise that he was right there until he felt the edge, though. Bruce knew that noises had been tumbling out of him unbidden, but he was long past the point of being able to control that; Jim certainly didn’t seem to mind if his own responses were anything to go by. He either responded with a groan of his own, or, in this case, pressed harder against Bruce on the next pass.

Bruce’s breath hitched, and he dug his fingers into the meat of Jim’s shoulders. “Jim,” he gasped. “Jim, I- Hold on, I’m close, I haven’t even taken my underwear off-”

Jim shuddered against him, hips jerking down against Bruce’s. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mumbled against Bruce’s neck. He surged up, meeting Bruce in a clumsy kiss, and made no effort to move away or slow things down.

“I’m gonna  _ come, _ Jim.” Bruce forced the words out between quick breaths for air. Part of him wanted more - and there would definitely be time for more - but the overwhelming majority of him was on fire, holding onto Jim with everything he had. “Fuck, Jim,  _ Jim- _ ”

Bruce cut himself off with a moan that sounded closer to a whine, holding Jim down with him as he shivered. Jim’s name spilled out of him a couple of times, but Bruce wasn’t paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth, not fully; he was more concerned with riding out the sparks of pleasure racing across his skin and, when he was a little more coherent, seeking out Jim’s lips for a kiss made sloppy by his sudden lack of coordination.

“Jesus Christ,” Jim breathed, managing quiet words between kisses. “ _ Jesus, _ Bruce.”

Jim was still grinding, though he was a little gentler now, mindful of how sensitive Bruce was. He was still rock hard, though, and Bruce already had a few ideas about how to take care of it.

They kissed slowly as Bruce caught his breath, but he wasn’t ready to give in to weariness just yet. While Jim was distracted, Bruce slipped a hand down from his hip, tucking back under the waistband of his trousers again to circle around to his front. Bruce smiled lazily into the kiss as he pressed his palm against Jim’s dick through his underwear, delighted by the groan it got him.

“Bruce,” Jim huffed, rocking into his hand. “You’ve gotta give me some warning.”

“Well, I tried giving you warning, and you ignored it.” Bruce nodded at the gap between them. “Now my underwear’s ruined.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You’ve probably got hundreds of pairs laying around.”

“I don’t, actually,” Bruce laughed. His fingers crept up, toying with the elastic of Jim’s underwear. “Can I?”

They stumbled into a kiss again, firm and desperate, as Jim moaned against him. “Fuck,  _ please. _ ”

Bruce shoved his underwear down, and he wasted no time in taking his dick in hand. He rolled his thumb across the head to gather the slick already there, smoothing it down with a few easy strokes. He was fascinated by the way Jim moved his whole body through the motion, rolling with Bruce’s touch like a wave. It was easily one of the hottest things he’d seen, knowing that Jim was so thoroughly caught up in it. Bruce felt heat pulse lazily through his veins, and he wished he was able to go again so quickly.

Jim clearly didn’t want slow, so Bruce didn’t tease, as much as he wanted to spend some time doing so. He set up a steady pace, sliding his hand from base to tip and back again, and throwing in the occasional twist of his wrist. He still tingled from his own high, and Jim’s noises, muffled from where he buried his face into Bruce’s shoulder, only prolonged it. 

His free arm wound its way around Jim, holding onto him as he loosened his grip just a little, just enough for Jim to set his own speed. Bruce found himself rocked by the movement too, and bit back a groan of his own as he imagined a similar, but very,  _ very _ different, set up. Injury be damned, he was going to find a comfortable way that he and Jim could take things further, however they wanted to.

Jim’s breath shuddered in his chest, and then Bruce felt his own name as Jim stuttered it against his throat, and then the splash of Jim’s come on his fingers and stomach. He kept stroking him through it, tightening his grip once again now that Jim seemed more focused on just holding himself up so he didn’t crush Bruce, and he finally let go once Jim made an uncomfortable little sound. Bruce let his hand flop back to the bed, palm up so he didn’t get it covered in come.

The other hand, however, held onto Jim to haul him in for a slow, lazy kiss. Bruce sighed, sinking back into the bed. 

“Mm, hold on.” Jim heaved himself up to drop down onto the mattress next to Bruce. He paused to politely tuck himself back in, and then leaned in to return to their kiss - only to pause when he caught sight of the mess on Bruce’s abdomen. A bright red flush stole over Jim’s cheeks. “Uh, sorry about that.”

Bruce, thoroughly relaxed now, just chuckled as he stretched. “My underwear’s done anyway. I didn’t mind. I liked it, actually.”

“You’d better shut up,” Jim muttered, silencing him briefly with a firm kiss. “I’m too old to go again right away.”

“Me too.” Bruce sprawled out on the bed, feeling like a luxurious cat. “I should probably shower before I fall asleep, though. Don’t wanna get this stuck on the dressings.”

“Ah, shit.” Jim groaned as he hauled himself upright to finally kick off his trousers. “Let’s get you up. I’ll give you a hand with changing, if you want. I’ve done it enough times myself.”

Bruce admittedly hadn’t expected the offer, but he wasn’t about to turn it down; he couldn’t reach the other half on his lower back, after all. It was why Alfred usually did it for him. He took Jim’s offered hand in his clean one, accepting the offer of help getting up. 

Their shower was a lazy affair, and a shared one. Jim didn’t technically have room for the two of them in his little cubicle, but they squeezed in, and traded a few extra kisses while they washed off. It wasn’t long before they sunk into Jim’s bed together - dressed lazily in just underwear, and Bruce’s bandages were switched out for clean ones - and Bruce sought out the ever present heat that Jim seemed to radiate. He found him under the covers, nosed his way past his tickly moustache for a quick goodnight peck, and then blissfully sunk into sleep.

* * *

“Please hold still, Bruce. This will go much easier if you do.”

Bruce’s features pinched. “Sorry. It was an accident.”

Alfred gave his bare shoulder a gentle pat. “I know. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

There was a light tap of metal as Alfred lowered something back to the medical tray. Bruce was perched on the corner of one of the less used dining tables next to the tray so Alfred could access both his front and his back with ease, and now he straightened up again as Alfred came back around to his stomach. He leaned back on his hands, watching Alfred as he reached for some fresh swabs to clean the wound.

He gritted his teeth at the first pass, and then relaxed as Alfred gentled the touch. “You know,” Bruce said, watching him carefully, “you don’t have to help with this anymore, right, Alfred?”

“Given your limited mobility right now, Bruce, I think it would be prudent for me to continue.” Alfred delicately put aside the cotton, reaching instead for a tube of antibiotic ointment. “I’m not sure you could reach the back yourself comfortably.”

“I meant  _ all _ of this, Alfred,” Bruce said quietly. 

Alfred paused, and he looked up enough to meet Bruce’s gaze. Bruce saw the moment that he understood - that he meant the butler part, not the medical part - and a smile touched the corners of Alfred’s mouth. “I know what you meant,” Alfred said. “However, I’m helping right now because you are my family. It hasn’t been about work for a long time, and you know that. Perhaps once you’re healed, we can talk about my duties in the rest of the manor, but for now I think it would be a good idea if I continued as we always have.”

“I hope you know that you have a place here regardless.” As Alfred brushed the ointment over his skin, Bruce closed his eyes to enjoy the soothing coolness of it. “I would never ask you to leave. I suggested it because I care about you, and I want to keep you around as family, not as an employee.”

“I appreciate that, Bruce.” 

Alfred switched the tube for bandages, and began the careful process of covering Bruce’s injuries all over again. Bruce opened his eyes again to watch him, trying to see if there was any hint of disappointment. The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to feel like he was kicking him out, because it was quite the opposite; Alfred had always been more of a father to him than Thomas ever had, and Bruce wanted to make that relationship more official, without the formality of work. 

“There,” Alfred said, tying off the end of the roll. “That should do it.” 

“Thank you.” Bruce slid down from the table and reached for his abandoned shirt to slip it back on. “Hey, Alfred.”

“Yes?” 

And before Alfred could busy himself with tidying up, Bruce enveloped him in a hug. For a moment, Alfred was still and stiff with surprise, and then he leaned into Bruce’s chest with a gentle sigh. It was only a few short beats before they separated, but Alfred was smiling, and that was all that mattered to Bruce.

“You’re a good man, Bruce,” Alfred said, patting his arm lightly. “I’m very proud of you.”

“It’s because of you,” Bruce said simply. “You raised me.”

Alfred bowed his head, and Bruce stayed quiet as he gathered himself. He wished he’d said it more over their time together, particularly since he’d taken up the mantle of Batman, but now was a good time to start. He was determined to make sure Alfred knew how much he was valued here, and giving him a good, comfortable retirement was just step one.

When Alfred straightened up again, he was composed, as if there had never been a pause at all. “And you have turned out to be the best son anyone could ask for. Now, we’d better be going, you’ve got business to attend to, I’m sure.”

Bruce didn’t actually have anything that needed his attention, but he pretended that he did for Alfred’s sake. He helped tidy up the medical supplies so Alfred could whisk them away, and then Bruce disappeared into his office in the manor to give his friend some privacy. That, and so he could lay out a plan or two for when Alfred did officially retire, starting with the vacation he had promised him.

* * *

It was pretty common for Bruce to see Tiffany come through his office most mornings now. It was common enough, in fact, that he’d ended up making a habit of getting two coffees instead of one in the morning, and soon enough he was greeting her with her usual order and some breakfast. She always took it gladly, and usually she could be seen tearing into whatever pastry Bruce had picked out before the elevator was even open. 

This time, though, he caught her as she came to scoop up her breakfast. “Hey, Tiffany?”

“What’s up?” She paused by his desk, though she didn’t wait on eating. Tiffany ripped open the top of the brown paper bag, humming in delight as she took an enthusiastic bite. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Bruce toyed with his own coffee cup, wrapping his fingers around it to soak up the warmth. 

Tiffany dropped into the chair opposite his desk and crossed her legs with a grin. “That’s a little dangerous of you, Bruce.”

“I know.” He couldn’t help laughing along with her. Tiffany was, quite simply, a ray of sunshine, even though she was full of snarky jokes and teasing. She’d really come into her own after Bruce had gotten to know her better; he could only wish their friendship’s beginning had been under better circumstances. “Speaking of dangerous things, I wanted to talk to you about your work with the Batman mission.”

She considered him over the lid of her coffee. “Okay. What part?”

“The field part.” 

“Uh huh.”

Bruce sat up, folding his arms on the desk. “Obviously, we were planning on doing more in the field together, but that’s not an option for me anymore. I was thinking… what would you say to helping the GCPD a little instead?”

Tiffany shot upright, almost spilling her coffee in her excitement. “I’d say that sounds fucking  _ cool-” _

“Hold on.” Bruce raised a hand. “I want to make one thing clear: it will not be in the same way that I acted as Batman. What I mean is what we did when we helped Jim investigate Joker; use your drone to scan for evidence, and provide support where you can.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do I still get to make myself a better suit?”

Bruce couldn’t help his amused smile. Tiffany reminded him of himself when he was younger, in a way, with how determined she was to help Gotham’s crime problem. She had been such a great help on the scene the one time they’d gone out together - not counting the actual confrontation with Joker, that was - and she seemed eager to repeat it. To her credit, she had refined tech that he and Alfred had worked with for years in the span of a few days, and it had immediately narrowed things down when it mattered. 

Tiffany was going to do great things. Bruce could feel it. She wouldn’t quite be Gotham’s next superhero, but by the time she worked on a few cases, Bruce wondered if the city would even remember Batman.

“Yes, you can make yourself a better suit,” he said, smiling. “I’d recommend it, in fact. I only want you to support, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared.”

“Fuck yes.” Tiffany grinned. 

“And while we’re on the subject of the Batman mission,” Bruce continued, “I figured you’d need a better base of operations than here. I was wondering if you’d like to use the Batcave.” 

She was silent for a beat. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“When can I start?”


	4. Chapter 4

It was, admittedly, a little daunting to have Bruce invite him to stay at the manor. Jim had been there before, of course - over the years, Bruce had hosted various parties and charity events, and Jim had attended more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. He had never fit in with the former, and it wasn’t like he had had much spare cash floating around for the latter. Because of those, though, he already knew what to expect when he arrived, but it was still a little intimidating to park out front, right alongside what could only be one of Bruce’s cars.

Jim dug his phone out of his pocket and clicked on their last text conversation.

_I’m here. Mind coming to get me so I don’t get lost?_

_On my way. You can let yourself in._

Well, there was no sense in waiting around. He grabbed his overnight bag - a backpack, mostly just containing clothes and some toiletries - and swung it over his shoulder. 

The lobby was about as open as Jim remembered it being. The staircase stretched up before him, reaching to the next floor of the manor. As far as he knew, the rest of the ground floor was all showy rooms, designed more for public events than for comfort; he figured that Bruce and Alfred tended to use the first floor more for their everyday lives. He’d seen a few of those public rooms over his more professional visits, though the whole place had been full of people at the time. It felt oddly empty now, he thought as he settled in to wait, resting his elbow against the banister.

It didn’t take Bruce long to reach him. He heard his footsteps on the plush carpet, and he looked up the staircase to see him still immaculately dressed for this late in the evening: his hair styled into place, one of those nice buttoned shirts on, and a warm smile on his face.

Jim’s heart swooped. 

As Bruce reached his level, he welcomed Jim into a longer than necessary kiss to greet him. Jim hummed, pleased, and tugged him closer. God, he’d missed this.

“Hi to you, too,” Jim chuckled when they eventually parted.

“I’ve been waiting to do that,” Bruce admitted. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s been just over a week, Bruce.”

“Yeah, and that’s too long.”

Bruce stole another kiss, quicker this time, and then finally relented. He twined his fingers with Jim’s, a wide smile on his face. “We can get rid of your bag first, if you want, before we head to the dining room.” 

“Sure.” Jim felt his eyes crinkle at the corners as he watched Bruce. His partner’s excitement was obvious, and it was absolutely adorable. In Bruce’s defence, it _had_ been ten long days since they’d had the chance to spend time alone together. They had seen each other fleetingly, but there had always been work in the way, and neither of them wanted to tangle business with pleasure. It felt good just to be in his presence again.

Bruce led the way up to his bedroom, up on the first floor of the manor. He was a neat person by nature, Jim noticed; his room was tidy, almost untouched except for the hamper in the corner. A sock was caught on the side, dangling over the edge.

It probably wasn’t one of the biggest rooms in the manor, not by a long shot. Bruce had decorated it with his fair share of trinkets that he’d gathered over the years, though, and there were a few framed photos carefully positioned about the room. Mostly, those pictures depicted Alfred, either alone or with Bruce, and others were of Bruce’s mother; Jim recognised her from publicity photos of the Wayne family. 

There was only one of both of his parents together, and it stayed firmly on his chest of drawers, noticeably separate to the others. Jim couldn’t spot any others that featured Bruce’s father.

“Huh,” Jim said, dropping his bag by the foot of Bruce’s wardrobe. “Surprisingly normal for a billionaire.”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with a self-conscious laugh. “I think the most expensive thing in here is the mattress,” he joked. “Worth every penny.” Then, a little daring, Bruce added, “You can try it out later.”

The corner of Jim’s lips tugged up in an amused little smirk. “Maybe I will,” he agreed. “And as much as I’d like to right now, I’m fucking starving.”

“Come on, let’s get you some dinner.” Bruce laughed and settled his hand at the small of Jim’s back, gently steering him in the right direction. The touch sent warmth flowing through Jim’s veins, comfortable as he settled in.

Alfred had food waiting for them when they arrived. It was a smaller, more private dining room when compared to the ones downstairs that Jim had seen at previous events. Through a parted door, Jim could see a kitchen, and he assumed that this was probably where Bruce and Alfred did most of their cooking. It made sense; they didn’t need the bigger areas of the manor for just the two of them.

“Hello, Jim,” Alfred said, shaking Jim’s hand. “It’s wonderful to have you here. How have you been?”

“Great, thanks.” Jim nodded at him, and tried not to be too distracted by the smell of a freshly cooked meal. “How about you?”

“Much the same, thank you. Leading a more peaceful existence now, of course.” Alfred’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Bruce, who stood just behind Jim, waiting politely, if a little sheepishly after his teasing. 

Jim glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. “Sounds like you were keeping him on his toes.”

“Something like that,” Bruce said. “Actually, speaking of, I’m due another dose of painkillers before dinner. I’ll be right back.” 

He squeezed Jim’s fingers subtly, and then vanished through to the kitchen. When Jim looked after him, confused, Alfred smiled and said, “He keeps them in the kitchen as a reminder to have them with food. It saves a walk across the manor.”

“Makes sense.” Jim frowned. “Is he doing okay?”

“He’s healing much better than he would if he were still Batman.” Alfred sighed, folding his hands in front of himself primly. “It’ll take some time. It was quite a severe injury, as I’m sure you know, though I think having you around is helping a great deal.”

Jim could certainly see that the benefits of a slower lifestyle were already working for Bruce, but he glanced away when Alfred pointed out his own involvement. It was early days, Jim told himself; he already cared a great deal about Bruce - had done for a while if he included the years they’d worked together as Batman and Commissioner - but he didn’t want to jinx things. “I think you’ve helped him a lot more,” Jim said.

Something told him that Alfred saw right through him. “The only difference there is time, Jim. You’re doing a lot more for him than you realise.”

The door swung open again, and Jim didn’t reply to Alfred. Bruce came back to his side, fitting in comfortably next to him - not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of him, and their fingers could brush if they wanted. They did tangle, just briefly, and then Bruce’s hand came to settle on Jim’s back and guide him towards the table. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s eat. Have a seat, Jim.”

“What’s for dinner?” Jim asked, sinking into the offered chair. Bruce settled in next to him, while Alfred took one opposite the pair of them. He spotted the tail end of another of those fond looks directed their way, but didn’t comment on it. 

Bruce reached over, lifting the dome that was resting over his plate. “Roast lamb and vegetables. Do you want a drink?” He lifted a bottle of beer, and Jim realised it was his favourite brand.

Scratch that thought about it being early days. Bruce was a keeper.

* * *

“That was amazing,” Jim sighed, leaning back in his chair. He laid a hand over his stomach, content. 

Bruce felt more than a little proud of himself. Sure, Alfred had done some of the work, but he’d helped cook their dinner, and he’d selected the menu with Jim in mind. It hadn’t needed to be anything complicated - he knew Jim’s likes and dislikes well enough by now, though it had been amusing to see his reaction to him and Alfred adding mint sauce to their lamb. When questioned, Bruce had simply shrugged and pointed to Alfred, who had raised him with a fair few British dishes alongside his usual affair. It had been followed up with a sticky toffee pudding that Alfred had made, which had been a pleasant surprise for Bruce, too; he was incredibly fond of Alfred’s cooking, particularly when it came to his English favourites.

“Well,” Alfred said, gently pushing his chair back from the table, “I’ll take the dishes, and then I’ll retire for the evening, I think.”

 _“I’ll_ take care of the dishes,” Bruce said, already reaching for them to place them in a stack. “You’ve done more than enough this evening, Alfred, thank you. Go and relax.”

He shot Alfred a kind smile, and he received a warm one in return. “If you’re sure, Bruce.”

“I am.” 

“Then goodnight, you two.” Alfred offered Jim a hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you on more informal terms, Jim. I hope we see more of you around here.”

Bruce stood, gathering the rest of the plates and cutlery as Jim and Alfred chatted. He quietly excused himself to the kitchen, where he began the process of rinsing the plates and filling the sink with hot water. He actually didn’t mind little domestic chores most of the time; when he could, Bruce liked to help Alfred with things around the manor, and he certainly wasn’t going to make him do his laundry. When the door opened again, Bruce already wore a set of yellow rubber gloves, and he was up to his forearms in soap suds as he scrubbed.

A pair of warm arms circled around him, and lips pressed against a spot under his ear, accompanied by a tickly moustache. Bruce smiled.

“You don’t have to wait in here,” he said, leaning back into Jim’s embrace. “You can go ahead and relax or shower.”

“And get lost in your giant house? I’m good.” Jim set his chin on Bruce’s shoulder. He felt warm from head to toe, and his chest was full of butterflies. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?”

Bruce shrugged, careful not to dislodge him. “Up to you. I was thinking about showering and changing into something more comfortable, but then we could watch a movie, maybe? Or, if you’re tired from work, we can just go straight to bed.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying up a little longer.” 

“Then when we get upstairs, you can pick something out and I’ll grab us snacks.”

Jim groaned. “I don’t think I can take snacks that soon after dinner.”

Bruce laughed. “Alright, just drinks it is.”

He finished up with the dishes, draining the water and resting the gloves over the side of the sink to dry. Once his hands were free, he turned in Jim’s arms to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then twined their fingers together to lead him back through the manor.

Luckily, Bruce had everything he needed in his own corner of the manor: bedroom, bathroom, living room, and even a much smaller kitchen that mostly just housed quick meals or snacks, and it wasn’t used much nowadays. It had been more helpful when he’d been Batman, and he’d only had the energy to grab something light on his way to bed. Bruce steered Jim in the direction of the bathroom, offering him the first shower, and in the meantime, he perched on the edge of the bed to wait for his turn, entertaining himself by scrolling on his phone. 

_One Month On - Still No Batman._

It was starting to become a familiar headline. Bruce skipped it. 

_Building Begins On Arkham’s New Wing._

Bruce smiled to himself. He’d received the news just that morning from Iman. The plans themselves had been greenlit for a week or two, and it had just been a matter of waiting for a crew to begin building. The next step would be securing equipment, tools, and training for all of the new staff that would follow.

_Gotham’s Eligibles Engaged At Last - Who’s Next?_

Something trashy that didn’t require too much attention. Perfect. Predictably, Bruce saw his own name listed amongst others that were also still available, but he ignored it. He only had eyes for one man now.

The bathroom door opened, and steam billowed out. Bruce glanced up automatically, his thumb still hovering over the article, and he promptly froze.

He’d expected Jim to take his overnight bag into the bathroom with him. Only now did he realise that it was still sat by the wardrobe, right where Jim had left it. Jim had borrowed a towel to wrap around his hips, but he was bare from the waist up. A few droplets of water lingered on his shoulders; he must have missed them on the first dry.

Bruce swallowed hard. 

Jim’s cheeks turned a little pink when he spotted Bruce on the bed. “I… left my clothes.”

“I know.” Bruce looked away politely. “Sorry, I can step out if you want.”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

Bruce still kept his eyes averted as he heard the towel drop to the floor. While Jim was right, he wasn’t sure he could take it. Instead, he moved his phone to the bedside table and busied himself with idle little things: toeing off his shoes to tuck them out of the way, smoothing out the spot on the bed where he’d been sitting, and so on. When Jim came over to peck his cheek and let him know the bathroom was all his, Bruce was only too happy to excuse himself, just to try and compose himself.

He _liked_ Jim. As much as he hoped the evening would take a _very_ positive turn, Bruce did want to spend some time just relaxing with him, too.

It was how he found himself settling into his squishy couch with Jim at his side, an arm draped around his shoulders. Jim was a warm, solid weight at his side, one that Bruce was thrilled to realise was _familiar_ to him by now. They fit together like two puzzle pieces, comfortable and easy, like they had always meant to connect. Bruce turned his head to kiss Jim’s cheek as he rode out the fluttery feeling in his chest.

Retirement wouldn’t have been easy on his own. 

This, though, was pretty close to perfection.

* * *

The plan had always been for Jim to share his bed. The offer of a guest room had been available if he’d wanted it, but considering they had already slept together at Jim’s place a couple of times - in both meanings of the phrase - he’d never entertained the thought of staying down the hall instead. Even if nothing happened at all, he was more than fine with that; he simply liked sleeping next to Bruce, sharing a bed with him, knowing that he would be there when he woke up. It was comforting even on the mornings when Jim had to leave early for work, especially when a sleepy Bruce reached for him to drag him back down for one more kiss every time.

Jim slipped under the covers with a grateful sigh, and he smiled when Bruce immediately sought him out, his arms snaking around him like an octopus. He felt lips against his cheek, and he turned to catch them against his own, indulging in a slow, easy kiss.

“You know,” Bruce murmured, “the offer is still on the table. We can do something if you want to.”

A hand settled on Jim’s chest, resting over his heart, as Bruce kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re really angling for it, aren’t you?” Jim teased, shifting onto his side to face him.

“We don’t have to,” Bruce reminded him. A smirk started to spread across his face, though, something that said he was feeling playful, at the very least. “I’m just laying it out there. We haven’t seen each other for a little while-”

“It’s still only been a week, Bruce,” Jim chuckled.

“Excuse me for missing you.” Bruce propped himself up on an elbow. His smile was wider now as they shot back and forth. Jim had to admit, he had missed the banter in person; they’d been texting while they’d been busy, but it didn’t quite have the same ring to it. 

Jim pushed himself up, only to roll towards him and press Bruce back into the mattress - carefully, though. He didn’t want to aggravate his injury, so he held himself up on his elbows. “I missed you too,” he said, and he leaned down to kiss him sweetly. It was incredibly rewarding to feel how Bruce just _melted_ underneath him. “You got any ideas?”

Bruce grinned against his lips, and when Jim lifted himself up again, Bruce didn’t make any moves. He just lounged, sweeping his hands up Jim’s back and across his shoulders to explore. “I’m all yours. Whatever you want.”

He had spent some time in the shower after Jim, he recalled. And, well, wasn’t that a tempting offer? 

After a few minutes more of some lazy kissing, Jim began to work his way south. He started with a nip at Bruce’s lips before he left, and then trailed his way down his body, tracing over scars both old and new. Silently, Jim realised that he remembered seeing half of these injuries happen; he might not be able to name the exact cases of some of the smaller ones, but others were ones he’d been on the scene for. How interesting it was to see it from the other side, to put together all of the puzzle pieces he had of Batman and Bruce Wayne to create one whole picture.

Jim shrugged the covers back as he settled down by Bruce’s hips. He was already half hard by the time he was there, and he gladly pressed a kiss to Bruce’s cock through his underwear. His own hips settled against the mattress, providing just enough pressure to be pleasant, though Jim was already planning on being far too busy to notice just yet.

“God,” Bruce breathed in wonder, his fingers tracing up Jim’s upper arm to reach his cheek. “Do you want a condom?”

“Sure.” Jim glanced up at him, his thumb resting on the elastic waistband idly. “Lube too, if you want.”

The question hung heavy in the tension between them, the implication obvious. It was up to Bruce how far this went, and Jim was fine with it regardless. Truth be told, he was just happy to be having sex with his partner after a long day at work.

Bruce let out a shaky breath. His cheeks were stained pink as he stared down at Jim, and then he seemed to gather himself enough to reach for his bedside table. When Bruce came back, he tossed both a foil packet and a small bottle down to Jim.

And that settled that. Jim ignored the way it sent heat pooling in his stomach.

He tugged Bruce’s underwear down his hips, tossing it off the edge of the bed and into the abyss. With one hand, he reached for Bruce’s dick to give him a few slow, gentle strokes, just to get the ball rolling. Bruce hummed above him, and he shifted up into Jim’s grasp with a lazy little movement. It was, so far, nice and relaxed, which was admittedly the feeling Jim was going for.

“You okay with it?” Jim asked, glancing up at Bruce again. He nodded towards the lube bottle where it rested next to his thigh. “We don’t have to if it’s not something you’re interested in.”

“Oh, I’m very interested, Jim.” Bruce gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Please, absolutely go ahead. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.”

A bolt of heat flashed through Jim. “Yeah?” he asked. He reached for the lube with his free hand. 

“Mhm.” Bruce closed his eyes briefly as he rocked into Jim’s fist again. “Thought about it like this, actually.”

Briefly, Jim let go of him, and then Bruce shivered as Jim’s hand came back to him, coated with lube this time. Quietly, Bruce sighed, a soft moan on the tail end of it as Jim twisted his hand around him and swept up to the head, resting his thumb just underneath it. So far, anytime they’d had sex had been quicker - not rushed, exactly, but they hadn’t taken their time quite like this. They’d just been too eager to get their hands on each other before crashing to sleep.

Jim kissed his inner thigh, and he was delighted by the little jump of muscle he felt under his lips. He wound his way upwards, entirely unhurried, until he came to the base of Bruce’s dick. “Like this?” Jim prompted.

Bruce nodded. When he spoke, Jim noticed an indentation on his lower lip from where he’d gently bitten it. “Yeah,” he breathed, shifting into Jim’s touch. “Yeah, like this.”

Carefully, he flicked open the bottle of lube again with his free hand. He reluctantly let go of Bruce to slick up his fingers, and he eased his way further between Bruce’s legs to spread them apart more and fit between them easier. As he dipped his hand down, Jim mouthed at the side of Bruce’s dick, thoroughly enjoying the way Bruce’s hips twitched upwards in a silent plea for more.

“Tell me if you need to slow down,” he murmured. Jim pressed his first finger against his hole, just lightly tracing as he turned to take the head of Bruce’s dick into his mouth.

“Oh, _God,”_ Bruce gasped, arching a little as Jim bobbed back up again. His hand drifted from his shoulder to his hair, tangling in it just to hold on, while the other flew up to grab at his pillow. _“Fuck,_ Jim.”

He took it slow, gradually sinking down on Bruce a little more with each pass. At the same time, Jim teased his finger into him, trying to match his actions together and coming up with something close, but clumsy. He doubted Bruce minded, or even really noticed; he was too busy shifting on the mattress, torn between rolling up into Jim’s mouth and rocking back onto his finger. It made his job easy; Bruce was relaxed enough that Jim figured pretty quickly that he could take a second finger, and it got Bruce nice and worked up, too.

Carefully, Jim added it on the next thrust, keeping it shallower than before just to be on the safe side. Bruce took it beautifully, his fingers flexing against Jim’s scalp with another soft noise as he eagerly pressed back towards Jim’s hand. “Please,” he breathed, biting down on his bottom lip again with furrowed brows. “Mm, please, _Jim,_ keep going-”

Jim hummed a quiet affirmative - Bruce swore under his breath as the vibration of the noise tingled through him - and he thrust into him a little sharper. Bruce’s thighs shook on either side of his head, as if threatening to clamp down, but he kept them spread. A cry tumbled from Bruce’s lips, and he quickly stifled it by turning his face in towards his own arm. 

The sight of him lost in the throes of pleasure was absolutely fucking _stunning._ Jim allowed himself a leisurely grind against the bed, but no more just yet.

He spent some time getting Bruce accustomed to two fingers, curving them just right to tease as he prepped him. When Bruce’s hips started to twitch up more than down, though, Jim settled his forearm across him, keeping him pinned to the mattress. The reaction was immediate; he _felt_ the instinctive reaction to roll up again, and then heard Bruce’s breathy version of his name as he found he _couldn’t._

“Jim.” Bruce ran shaking fingers through his hair, drawing his attention up again. “Jim, I’m gonna come if you keep it up.”

Reluctantly, Jim rose up and off of his dick, and he felt himself twitch when Bruce whined despite warning him in the first place. Still, he peppered kisses across the sensitive skin surrounding him, down as far as his thighs again, as he inched a third finger into him. 

This time, when Bruce tried to press back to meet him, it was more of a wiggle thanks to Jim’s forearm holding him firmly in place. It sent a throb of heat pulsing through Jim’s blood. “God,” he murmured, twisting his wrist for a better angle.

He was impatient, desperate to rise up and kiss Bruce, but he stayed put for just a minute longer, working back up to his previous pace. Bruce was, Jim was realising, very vocal in bed; the handful of times they’d slept together so far was proof enough of that. He couldn’t help wondering if that would hold true if their positions were reversed, and Bruce was the one teasing him instead. Jim shivered and rolled his hips against the bed at the thought.

When Bruce was ready, he was past the pointing of whining. He simply grabbed at Jim as he lifted himself up the bed again, dragging him down into a clumsy kiss. A groan rattled around in Jim’s chest as Bruce nipped at his bottom lip, and he desperately searched for the condom in the sheets. Jim’s underwear ended up over the side of the bed too, lost in the same way that Bruce’s had been, and he couldn’t care less. He’d find them tomorrow. Maybe.

Jim had to bite his tongue when he first touched himself, even though it was only to roll the condom on. It was tempting to keep going, but he didn’t want to get too close to the edge, not yet.

Bruce’s good leg, his uninjured one, found its way around Jim’s hips to tug him closer. “Jim,” he breathed, fingers raking through his hair and leaving it messy, spilling down into his eyes. “Jim, please-”

“Yeah, shit.” Jim shuffled closer, propping himself up on his knees as he tucked himself between Bruce’s thighs. He bent down on one hand, just so he could catch Bruce in a kiss again, though he was half distracted as he adjusted and then, slowly, carefully, eased himself into Bruce.

Bruce dropped his head back on the pillow with a gasp. His fingers tightened and loosened in Jim’s hair, just trying to hold onto him. “God,” he gasped, seemingly unable to catch a full breath. _“Jim-”_

“Bruce,” he answered reflexively, mumbling his name against the corner of his jaw. Jim’s head spun as he withdrew just a little and then rolled forwards again, pressing his hips closer to Bruce’s the second time around. He dug the fingers of his free hand into the sheets, using it as leverage, but also just to grip and work out his excess energy. Bruce deserved slow and sweet, and Jim wanted to give it to him.

He sought out his lips, and when Bruce met him halfway, Jim melted against him. He stayed where he was for a beat, his hips against Bruce’s ass, simply enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. 

That was, until Bruce shifted underneath him again, muffling a noise against his lips. “Jim, _please_ move.”

He was only too happy to oblige. Jim’s hand skimmed down to rest on Bruce’s hip, and he used it to pull him into his next slow thrust. Bruce’s head lolled back against the pillow with a pleased sigh, a lazy smile on the corner of his mouth as Jim moaned a quiet noise against his jaw. His leg tangled a little more comfortably around Jim’s, tugging him closer; Jim felt more than heard Bruce’s soft chuckle when the motion pulled a gasp out of him.

Jim worked his way up to Bruce’s mouth again, determined to kiss that smirk away. When he snapped his hips into Bruce a little harder and was rewarded with a surprised moan, it vanished, and Bruce’s hands clapped onto his forearms instead, squeezing. Jim couldn’t make out the word Bruce said against his mouth; it was lost in the kiss as he picked up the pace just a little - still slow for a second longer, still more about indulgence than desperation, but he wanted to drive Bruce higher and closer.

With all of Jim’s teasing, it didn’t take much for Bruce to start muffling whimpers against Jim’s lips. He skated a hand down between them to tease his fingers over Bruce’s dick, and Bruce’s hips jumped up with his shocked moan. _“Please.”_

Slow went out the window, but gentle remained. Jim crumbled with a groan, kissing Bruce hard as he wrapped his hand around his dick and fucked into him. It was the perfect feedback loop, where his thrusts and his touching pulled noises out of Bruce endlessly now, and it made Jim want to do more of the same to hear more in return. He tucked his head into the crook of Bruce’s throat, ducking down to suck a mark into the skin of his collarbone, and Bruce’s fingernails dug into Jim’s shoulders hard enough that he was sure there were crescent shapes left behind.

“Jim,” Bruce gasped, rolling smoothly between his fist and his dick. “Jim, I’m close-”

“Fuck,” Jim hissed against his skin. He kissed his way back up Bruce’s jaw, desperate with the way pleasure raced across his skin in a blazing trail. “Me too, Bruce, shit-”

 _“Fuck.”_ Bruce squeezed him tighter, his thigh pressing Jim as close as he could be; he could feel Bruce’s toes curling against his thigh. “Fuck, fuck, _Jim-”_

And then he felt warmth pooling across his fingers, and Jim stroked him faster to keep him going through the aftershocks. He wasn’t far behind himself; it only took a couple more stuttery thrusts before Jim exhaled Bruce’s name and curled over him, pressing hard against him and forgetting to keep touching him. Bruce didn’t seem to mind, though; a soft noise spilled out of him anyway as Jim panted against his shoulder, and his fingers wound their way into his hair to gently thread through it. Jim could feel the telltale tremble that always seemed to linger in Bruce immediately after coming.

“Jesus,” he murmured, peppering lazy kisses across the skin right by his face. Jim made no attempt to move just yet; even now, as he held himself up on his elbows again to kiss Bruce nice and slow, he could feel that his limbs were weak and needed a second.

“Mm.” Bruce was smiling into the kiss, undoubtedly pleased with himself. “I don’t want to move,” he murmured, echoing Jim’s thoughts.

Reluctantly, Jim pushed himself up a little more, just enough that he could extricate himself from Bruce’s hold and tie off the condom. “You’re gonna have to a little,” he said, teasing and gesturing towards the mess on Bruce’s stomach. 

“Jim, I don’t think my legs could hold me if I _tried.”_

Shaking his head, Jim leaned down to kiss him again, laughing into it. “Alright, alright. Wait there.”

He took it upon himself to clean them up, amused by Bruce’s desire to stay right there. He tossed the condom in the bin on his way to get a washcloth, and when he returned, Bruce had wriggled around enough to put the lube back on his bedside table for now, thank God. Jim hadn’t been looking forward to digging around for it. 

Once they were clean enough, Jim sunk back into bed next to him, looping an arm around Bruce’s middle to tug him close. “You’re on clean up next time,” he mumbled into his shoulder. His eyelids were drooping already as the day caught up with him.

“It’s a deal,” Bruce chuckled. His hand came up to cup Jim’s cheek, bumping against the arm of his glasses. “You want me to get these?”

“Mm.” Jim’s eyes were already closed now; the bed was warm and he was comfortable, and that was enough to start dragging him down. Distantly, he felt Bruce lean over him to place his glasses carefully on the table on his side, and then Bruce tucked himself back in next to Jim again, enveloping him once more. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He felt Bruce shake with another quiet little laugh, and then there were lips against his cheek in a sweet kiss. “Get some rest, Jim.”

“Working on it.” Jim sighed, reaching just far enough to hold Bruce in return. He was so _warm,_ it was perfect. “Night, Bruce.”

Another peck, this time against his temple. Jim could just about feel the curve of Bruce’s fond smile. “Goodnight, Jim.”

* * *

Tiffany swung through Bruce’s office in the morning as usual, grabbing her breakfast from his desk on her way. Rather than make a detour straight for the elevator, though, she lingered by his desk, crinkling the paper of the bag wrapped around her food. “Hey, Bruce?”

Bruce pressed one last key, and then gave her his full attention. “What’s up?”

She looked almost shy. It was an almost imperceptible difference - Tiffany liked to portray herself as confident and smart, which she certainly was, but there was something almost hesitant underneath this time. “Do you wanna come down to the lab with me?” she asked, nodding towards the hidden elevator. “I wanna show you the work I’ve done.”

“Absolutely.” Bruce locked his computer with a quick press, and then stood to join her, grabbing his own coffee on the way. “What’ve you been working on?”

“I’ll show you when we get down there.”

Bruce obediently went silent for the trip down. He’d visited a few times since he’d handed ownership of the workshop to Tiffany, so he wasn’t surprised to see the scattered blueprints and half finished projects. The fact that Lucius’ desk - now Tiffany’s - was kept respectfully tidy in comparison had never escaped Bruce’s notice. Tiffany had moved some of her own essentials in, but for the most part, the things that Lucius had left there had remained in place. Bruce couldn’t say that he blamed her. 

Really, he thought, it made sense why she hadn’t used the Batcave much despite the invitation. Here, there was a strong sense of Lucius, and if it was comforting to him, he couldn’t imagine how much it helped Tiffany.

“So,” Tiffany said, setting down her breakfast on the nearest available surface, “I’ve mostly been working on the drone.”

It lay unfolded on the main table in the centre. A panel on the back was open, and had clearly been left that way after Tiffany had worked on it the previous day. Idly, Bruce peered inside at the exposed section, admiring her handiwork. “What’ve you been doing with it?” he asked.

“Trying to get a little more control over the boosters, mostly.” Tiffany tapped on one of the four circular pieces at the corners of the device. “Just to make it easier to control. I’ve also strengthened its connection to the Batcomputer so it’s got access to more info we can use while out in the field. It should be quicker and more accurate.”

“That’s fantastic.” Bruce knew it would come in handy. The GCPD were already great at what they did, but with Tiffany on their side, doing a better job than he ever had as Batman, they would easily be able to keep Gotham clean. “What about your gear?”

“That’s next. I figured it’d be easier to build on this part before I started from scratch again.” Tiffany took a quick bite of her pastry, and then circled around the table to scoop up some loose blueprints to hand to Bruce. Once she’d swallowed, she said, “Here’s the designs, though. It’s kinda what I wore when we went out to track Joker together, except I’ve tried to make it armoured like the Batsuit. Oh, and the drone’s gonna have shock capabilities, but I’m trying to figure that one out still.”

It was impressive, even just as a drawing, and it would definitely be much safer than the simple clothing Tiffany had worn out that one time. Bruce certainly felt a lot better knowing that she wouldn’t be as vulnerable to a stray bullet once it was built. There was even an angular design on the shoulder, similar to the way he had had a bat as a symbol on his chest; it seemed to be a redesigned version of that.

“It’s still a bat,” Tiffany admitted, peering over his shoulder. “I haven’t got a codename yet, but… I figured I could use something like that so the GCPD would recognise me.”

“I like it,” he said, smiling as he handed the designs back. “Are you sticking with your purple and black theme?”

Tiffany grinned at him, clearly relieved now she’d had his blessing. “Yeah, I like it. I’ll see how it comes out in armour, though. I still don’t know what to do for a mask yet either.”

“You can always keep it simple and just cover the eyes,” Bruce said. “I know I went kind of dramatic, but I’ve heard of others out there just having a strip across here.” He gestured upwards, tracing a line across the bridge of his nose. 

Tiffany made a thoughtful little noise, and then reached for a pen to scribble down a quick note on the nearest plan. “You know what, I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, Bruce.”

“Of course. I have good ideas sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes.” Tiffany smirked, turning away to get to work. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bruce.”

He laughed, enjoying their teasing as much as he always did. It was fortunate that they had clicked that easily, really, but Tiffany had always had the same sense of humour as her father, though he had tried to keep things more professional most of the time until now. He counted her as a friend rather than an employee these days, much like Iman.

Tiffany fit in well with the group. Alfred had been right about bringing her in.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner with Jim and Alfred always went one of two ways.

It was either a comfortable, quiet affair, much like it usually was when it was just Bruce and Alfred, or it was full of teasing that often ended up being at Bruce’s expense.

That night was the latter.

Their meal had been polished off a while ago, and now Bruce sat with his head in one hand, enduring the ribbing they were sending his way. It was all in good fun - he was playing along, in fact, jabbing back at them just as much - but after a particularly embarrassing reference from his early days as Batman from Alfred, Bruce was on the verge of admitting defeat. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, waving Alfred off. “You win. Please, no more. I know, I should have listened.”

“No, hold on.” Jim held up a hand, grinning, and leaned towards Alfred. “He fell off the roof?”

“Into the bushes,” Alfred confirmed, as polite as ever. He couldn’t hide his amusement completely, though; the corners of his mouth had started to twitch, and a soft chuckle escaped him. “We had just completed the first version of the Batsuit and the grapple gun, and Bruce wanted to try it out. I didn’t find him for a good half an hour.”

Bruce winced, sinking down into his seat a little further. “Alfred…”

_ “Thirty minutes?” _

“Yes, thirty. And as I recall, Jim, he was due to meet you for the first time that night.”

Jim turned to Bruce with an incredulous look, and Bruce tucked his face back into his hand again. Originally, he’d hoped to wine and dine Jim tonight. He should have known better than to assume he could do that with Alfred ready to crash the party.

“You were sitting in some flowers just hours before I met Batman?”

“Yeah.” Bruce sighed, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Alfred had to help me up. I was stuck.”

Slumping back into his chair, Jim laughed a little breathlessly. It was hard to be too embarrassed when Jim’s laugh rang through the air, Bruce admitted silently. As Jim wiped at his eyes, he said, “Jesus Christ. The hero Gotham needed, foiled by a bush.”

“For thirty minutes,” Bruce reminded him, and Jim dissolved into laughter all over again.

“I believe my work here is done,” Alfred said, standing so he could stack their plates. There was a smug little smile on his face when he met Bruce’s eyes. He didn’t regret a thing. “Have a good evening, you two. I’ll be heading to my living quarters after I’ve put this away.”

“Goodnight, Alfred,” Bruce said distantly, muffled by his hand. It wasn’t until he had vanished into the kitchen that he sat up again, amused to see that Jim was only just recovering himself. “I hope you enjoyed that.”

Jim barked a laugh. “Of course I did. You didn’t tell me about how you embarrassed yourself as Batman.”

“I  _ was _ trying to flirt with you, you know. I didn’t exactly want to tell you about the times I missed a grapple.” 

Bruce stood, offering Jim his hand. He took it, lacing their fingers together in an automatic little gesture that made Bruce’s heart swell. To his delight, Jim used it to tug him in for a quick kiss - not too long, not when Alfred was still around. 

“That’s fair,” Jim said, still smiling when they parted. “I didn’t tell you about the times I tripped over shit while we were fighting bad guys.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “The cape did that for me. Tripping is nothing. Getting wrapped up in  _ that, _ though…”

As Jim started snickering again, Bruce tugged on his hand to lead him back to his corner of the manor. If he was going to embarrass himself with old stories now, he might as well do it from the comfort of his own living room.

* * *

That night, down in the depths of the Batcave, the Batcomputer lit up.

First, it searched to see if any Batsuits were active. It came up empty. 

In fact, seeing that they had been dormant for some time, the Batcomputer skipped straight ahead to its emergency response: it called Bruce and Alfred.

* * *

One minute, Bruce had been sleeping peacefully, snoring quietly into the back of Jim’s shoulder. He had an arm tossed around his partner’s side to hold him close as he greedily latched onto the warmth of his body. It rose and fell in time with Jim’s breaths, his fingers dangling in the air above Jim’s stomach. 

And then his phone rang. It chimed with a repetitive rhythmic tone, designed specifically to wake Bruce up.

His response was automatic. He sat up, threw the covers off, and was reaching for last night’s abandoned jeans when the sound of Jim’s phone stopped him. Bruce blinked into the darkness of his bedroom. He didn’t need to get up; he wasn’t Batman anymore. 

He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to get up.

“I’m here,” Jim grumbled into his phone, his voice thick with sleep. And then, more awake, he hissed, “Shit.”

Bruce watched the shape of Jim through the gloom as he ended the call, stood, grabbed his glasses, and started to dress, quickly and efficiently. It had almost been a couple of months now since Bruce had last worn the Batsuit, and he hadn’t felt a pull this strong since then. Gotham needed him, and he couldn’t respond.

Actually, no. It needed Jim Gordon.

“What is it?” Bruce asked.

“There’s some massive shootout happening at the docks,” Jim said, yanking on his shirt. “A midnight heist gone wrong when someone called it in. There’s already been an explosion.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped. Explosions? “They need you?”

“They need me,” Jim confirmed. He grabbed his coat from a chair, shrugging it onto his shoulders. “Sorry, Bruce. You can go back to sleep, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be. I can just crash at my place after.”

“No, no, you can come back here if you want.” Before he knew it, Bruce found himself on his feet and rounding the bed to simply be near Jim. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; by now, Batman would usually be grappling his way to the scene of the crime, where he would then meet the officers on scene and form a plan. Now, Bruce was just expected to play the regular civilian and go back to bed.

He hated it. There was only one other time he’d felt this helpless, and he didn’t appreciate feeling like he had at twelve years old again.

“Bruce, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be,” Jim sighed, looking a little sadly at him. “You don’t have to wait up for me.” 

Bruce knew he was delaying the inevitable now; Jim was dressed, he had his phone, wallet, and keys, and he needed to go. His chest was tight with something, though, and Bruce had a feeling that he knew what it was.

“Jim, wait.” Three words almost spilled out of Bruce then, held back only by the way he bit his tongue. He hadn’t expected them, not yet, but he knew they were true. They had been for a while, even when they had just been close as Batman and Commissioner Gordon. It was simply a fact, one that Bruce hadn’t looked too closely at until now.

But he couldn’t say it when Jim was about to go into such a dangerous situation. He didn’t want Jim distracted.

So Bruce pulled him into a fierce kiss, and mumbled a different phrase against his lips. “Please stay safe.”

Jim squeezed his elbows. “I will. Get some rest, Bruce.” 

And then he was gone. Bruce heard him sprint across carpeted floor, and then even that faded as Jim headed for the door. For the first time, Bruce cursed that his house was so stupidly big; he couldn’t even hear Jim’s car as he left.

He felt a little ridiculous standing there in just his underwear with absolutely no intention to go back to bed. Almost on automatic, Bruce scooped up his sweats and t-shirt from the night before, pulled them on, and padded out into the rest of the manor to let his feet take him where they may. He didn’t want to think about his destination; his mind was busy both thinking about Jim and trying  _ not _ to think about Jim in equal measure.

It wasn’t until Bruce felt the chill of cold metal under his bare feet that he realised he was in the Batcave.

He knew it wasn’t for the suit. Bruce ignored it and turned to his right instead, mounting the steps before the Batcomputer. The screen was already lit; a map of Gotham spread across it, pinpointing the location of the police alert. Bruce pressed the button to raise the chair, and once he’d settled into it, he swept aside the map, searching instead for the police radio. In hindsight, it was a good thing Bruce had forgotten to turn off a lot of the Batcomputer’s features, but he did need to shut this one down eventually.

The familiar crackle and hiss of static fizzed for a moment, and then evened out into police chatter. Bruce leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes as he simply listened. Montoya was the one dealing out orders; he recognised her voice.

It wasn’t long before Jim joined them. Montoya announced his arrival on the scene, and then handed over the reins to him. Bruce’s chest squeezed when he heard Jim in the background before he came online.

He wished he’d told him he loved him. Bruce knew it was true, especially now. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed the strength of it before because he’d been there, helping, protecting Jim when he was taken off guard. He had complete faith in the GCPD, but it was still frightening to realise that there was nothing he could do.

Bruce opened his eyes when he heard the shuffle of slippers on the floor. Of course, Alfred had received the text, too. It was how they’d designed it to work.

“I thought I might find you here,” Alfred said gently. “Jim went to the scene, I suppose?”

Bruce drew his cold feet up onto the chair with him. He hugged his knees to his chest, feeling rather like a much younger version of himself. “Yeah. It sounded bad enough to need him.”

“I heard. I did a little reading before coming to find you.” 

Silence settled between them for a moment. Bruce tried to ignore the worry twisting his stomach into knots every time he heard some kind of scuffle or louder order in the background of the radio, focusing instead on this new perspective he had. He tilted his head back to look up at Alfred, who was watching the waves of audio on the screen. 

“I get it now, Alfred.”

“Hm?” Alfred glanced down, seeming confused. “You understand what, Bruce?”

“What you were talking about when you asked me to give up Batman.”

“Ah.” 

Bruce felt it now. The helplessness when someone he cared about was out there and he was back here, the not knowing how it would end,  _ if _ it would end. He would never ask Jim to give up being commissioner, though, not until he was ready, because it was entirely, wholly different. Bruce had taken up Batman as a side job, something to give the already capable GCPD an extra asset, and in the end, Alfred was the only one who had known where he was at any given time. If Bruce had died in the line of duty, it would have all been on Alfred to deal with the aftermath.

This was different. Jim had help in his colleagues. They had his back. It was his  _ job. _

Bruce just hadn’t realised how it felt to be on this side until now. Gotham had been quiet after the Joker incident, and while the GCPD had been called out, it had never been urgent enough for the Batcomputer to alert him. Usually, by then, Bruce had already seen the Batsignal and set out, so all the computer had to do was send the details to his suit. 

Alfred’s hand landed on his shoulder. “He’ll be alright, Bruce,” he murmured. “He knows what he’s doing. Jim was working in the police long before you were ever Batman, and I imagine he’ll have a few years on the force left yet. He won’t be ready to retire anytime soon, I expect.”

“No, he won’t.” Bruce chuckled tiredly. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to soothe the gentle ache in his temple. It was either stress or fatigue, and he wasn’t sure which. “He cares about Gotham as much as we do.”

“He’s a good man,” Alfred agreed. “Would you like some company while you wait, Bruce?”

That was one of the many things Bruce appreciated about Alfred. He knew when to push - the ultimatum over Batman had been one of the harsher examples - and he knew when to relent. This was one of the latter times.

Bruce reached out to the keyboard to tap a few buttons. A second chair lifted from the ground and moved up next to the first. Alfred sat, sighing gratefully as he sunk into it.

“I will admit that I don’t miss the late nights,” he said, and Bruce managed another quiet laugh. “I expect they won’t be quite as common now, though.”

“I’ll turn off the alert,” Bruce promised. He shook his head, faintly amused with himself. “I was so caught up in everything after the Pact that I forgot to turn that off. Sorry. If it helps, it was a surprise to me, too.”

“You would have woken anyway.” Alfred patted Bruce’s knee fondly. 

Bruce hummed his agreement. He would have, with Jim’s phonecall and him leaving the bed; Bruce would have been disturbed at the noise, and then he would have missed Jim’s presence. As much as Jim had wanted him to, Bruce wouldn’t have been able to go back to sleep if he’d tried. Now he doubted that Alfred would either. Jim being in the manor had been smooth and easy, and if he wanted it, he had a place in their little family right alongside Tiffany. 

They sat together, watching the Batcomputer, listening to the distant sound of Jim’s voice. 

* * *

The incident was resolved in the early hours of the morning. It was long enough that Bruce’s back had started to ache from the chair, despite readjusting several times to try and get comfortable. Alfred had briefly left to get them drinks, returning with a tea for himself and a coffee for Bruce. He’d gladly accepted it, grateful for the little energy boost as well as the warmth; he’d never realised how cold it could get down in the Batcave, but then he supposed he’d never really been down here in pyjamas. 

As Montoya announced the end, alerting the force to stand down, Bruce pushed himself back from the desk and stretched. Alfred yawned next to him, covering his mouth politely. 

Bruce dropped his arms back to his sides with a sigh, and as he did, his phone vibrated on the desk. A familiar name popped up, and his heart jumped in his chest.

_ Heading back. You’d better be asleep. _

_ Not even close. I’ll meet you in the lobby. _

Bruce reached out, blindly tapping at the keyboard to send the Batcomputer back to sleep. “Jim’s on his way back,” he said, glancing up at Alfred.

Alfred gathered up their cups, stacking them on top of one another, and then straightened up again to face Bruce. There was a gentle smile on his face, a knowing one; Bruce didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was buzzing to get back up there, even though Jim was likely to take things a little slower coming back. “Then I suppose we had better get upstairs to welcome him home,” Alfred said. “Lead the way, Bruce, I’ll be right behind you.”

The cold metal of the Batcave floor didn’t seem so bad now. Once they were back on lush carpet in the parlour, Bruce paused to warm his feet for a moment, delighting in the softness of it against his toes. The rest of the manor was a little warmer - not amazingly, given the size of the building; it didn’t make sense to heat the rooms they never really used - and feeling returned to his fingers and toes almost instantly. 

The thing that really warmed Bruce, though, was the knowledge that Jim was coming home.

Alfred followed him at a more comfortable pace as Bruce moved quickly towards the lobby, following paths he knew like the back of his hand. He heard Alfred chuckle quietly, amused by the way Bruce tried to maintain composed at the same time as he barely restrained himself from sprinting right to the front door.

It opened as Bruce turned the last corner into the lobby. 

Jim hadn’t noticed yet. He sighed as he closed the door behind him, his shoulders sagging with tiredness. His hair was dishevelled from sleep and, most likely, running his fingers through it while at the crime scene. For once, his coat seemed a little too big for him as he slouched a under its weight. His hand came up to push his glasses up and rub at his eyes, as if it would wipe away his weariness.

Bruce picked up the pace.

The thing that made Jim look up was the sound of Bruce’s feet on the tile. His hand dropped back to his side, and he raised his head in time to see Bruce coming his way. Shaking his head with a fond smile, Jim opened his arms, and Bruce folded into them to hold him just as tightly.

“I told you to go back to bed,” Jim muttered into Bruce’s temple. 

Bruce squeezed Jim around the middle. “You know as well as I do that I wasn’t going to be able to sleep.” He drew back so he could see Jim’s face. His smile still lingered, even though Bruce could see now how utterly  _ exhausted _ he was. “What happened?”

“It was just a shootout that escalated, some gang thinking they could hold off and keep the shit they were trying to steal.” Jim shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing as spectacular as we’re used to, if that’s what you’re getting at. If you weren’t sleeping, what were you doing?”

“I was, uh… listening,” Bruce admitted. “On the Batcomputer. It sounded serious, Jim. I couldn’t sit there just… not knowing what was happening.” The fact that nobody would have known to call Bruce, just like it had been for him and Alfred, had tortured him all night. He couldn’t  _ not _ listen.

Jim laughed fondly, turning to press a kiss to Bruce’s cheek. “Of course you listened. I’m not surprised.” While he was there, he shifted to kiss again, closer to Bruce’s ear; he could feel his smile against his skin. “I love you.”

Bruce blinked.

Jim froze in his arms. He cleared his throat and relaxed his grip on Bruce a little, giving himself room to move back. His face was red. “Bruce, I…”

“Jim.” He tugged Jim back in again by his lapels, a wide grin splitting his face. “I almost said it before you left. I  _ had _ planned on telling you when you came home, but you just beat me to it. I love you, too.”

Wordlessly, Jim met him halfway for a kiss. It was hard to keep it up when they both smiled, and then subsequently snickered quietly when it kept nudging them apart. Warmth bloomed in Bruce’s chest as he stood there, right at the door to the manor, still holding onto Jim’s collar, dissolving into private laughter.

A polite cough reminded him that there was someone else in the room.

Bruce swivelled, spotting Alfred in the corner. He’d clearly detoured to get rid of their cups, but now he stood there, an amused look on his face as he watched the pair of them. He had absolutely no idea how long Alfred had been there, or how much he had seen.

Jim cleared his throat. “Evening, Alfred. Or morning now, I guess.”

“Good morning, Jim.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Alfred’s eye. He had  _ definitely _ seen at least part of that. “I’m glad to see you made it out unscathed. We rather missed you.”

“Thanks. Sorry to keep you guys up.”

Alfred waved a hand. “There’s nothing to apologise for. You’re family, Jim. So far, you’re a lot less trouble than Bruce was in his Batman days.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, wincing at the teasing.

“Of course, Bruce.” He looked far too pleased with himself. Alfred clasped his hands together as his smile eased into something softer, more genuine. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you to it. I’m going to get some more rest.”

He inclined his head and took his retreat back up the stairs. Bruce waited until he could no longer hear Alfred’s footsteps before he turned back to Jim.

“Sleep sounds like an amazing idea,” he admitted. 

“It does.” Jim sighed, looking longingly at the staircase. “First, though…”

He caught Bruce in another kiss, and Bruce laughed quietly against his lips. He felt more than heard the rumble of Jim’s answering chuckle in his chest. If Bruce had opened his eyes, he would have been able to see the first rays of dawn through the windows of the manor, but he gladly traded a few minutes of sleep to stand with Jim for a moment longer, and to hear him mumble those same three words once more when he parted briefly for breath.

Bruce’s lips still tingled even after they eventually found their way to bed. He fell asleep almost instantly - Jim was out the second his head hit the pillow - but was conscious just for long enough to press his lips against Jim’s shoulder one more time.

* * *

“Happy birthday, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Bruce, thank you.” Alfred looked up from his newspaper with a smile. Aside from Christmas, his birthday was the one day of the year that Alfred unapologetically took as a day off; despite Bruce’s insistence over the matter, Alfred was determined to keep performing his duties in the manor regardless of any other holidays. 

It was nice to see him relaxing, though. He’d taken his favourite spot in the living room, and so far, he’d done absolutely nothing all day except put his feet up. Bruce had a fresh tea for him, and he set it down on the coffee table, subtly stepping to the side so Alfred couldn’t see the tightly rolled scroll he had hidden behind his back. “How’s your day so far?”

“Lovely, thank you.” Alfred folded his newspaper and set it aside. “Ah, thank you for the tea. I’d finished my other one.”

“I figured.” Bruce chuckled. He tried where he could; considering Alfred had spent years and years waiting on him, it was only fair to do the same when he was allowed. “I have your first present, by the way.”

“My first?”

Bruce grinned. “Of course. There’s also the usual vacation I’ll pay for, among other presents.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but it was fond and amused. Bruce knew that he didn’t really care for material gifts - Bruce paid him more than enough to buy whatever he wanted - but he still tried to pick out things that he knew Alfred would appreciate, and he’d spend the day being  _ his _ butler for a change. The latter was an old joke that had stuck, and Bruce was more than happy to hang around and keep him company while bringing him drinks and making him dinner.

“Alright, then, Bruce.” Alfred lowered his feet back to the floor so he could sit up. “Come and take a seat.”

He settled down next to Alfred, and as he did so, Bruce brought his hands around to his front. He offered Alfred the scroll, and then he waited, patient, as Alfred took it and opened it with a politely puzzled frown.

It took a moment for it to sink in, but Bruce could tell when it did: Alfred’s features softened, and he gasped quietly.

“Officially, I am no longer Bruce Thomas Wayne,” Bruce said, leaning over Alfred’s shoulder to see the name change certificate over his shoulder. “I’m Bruce  _ Alfred _ Wayne now. I thought it would be a good idea to correct it, considering.”

Alfred was much more of a father to him than Thomas had ever been. While Thomas had been wrapped up in the criminal underbelly of Gotham, Alfred had taken the time to raise Bruce right, had shown him affection and fun and manners. Bruce had Alfred to thank for so much - for getting past the trauma of losing his parents in the way he did, for his help with Batman, for his work around the manor, and, most importantly, for remaining a steadfast friend and father.

Politely, he glanced away as Alfred reached up to dab at the corner of his eye. “Bruce…”

He looped an arm around Alfred to give him a gentle squeeze. “You’re an amazing father, Alfred,” he said quietly. “This felt like the best way to recognise that.” 

Alfred took a deep breath, and he smoothed his fingers over the edges of the certificate in an effort to flatten it out. “Bruce… Thank you.”

“You can keep that, if you want,” Bruce added, nudging Alfred in the side gently. “I have another copy.”

“You’re too kind.” Carefully, Alfred set it on the coffee table, unfurled just enough that the name was still visible. “That’s… very thoughtful of you, Bruce.”

“I meant to do it years ago,” he admitted. He’d thought about it for a while, ever since Thomas’ past had come to light. Ever since, Bruce had been trying to take apart his own recollection of the man - he didn’t care to call him his father anymore, not unless it was necessary in a public speech - and changing his middle name had been the next logical step after moving the family portrait into a more private area of the manor. 

Alfred was, and always had been, his father.

Bruce patted his shoulder and stood. “What would you like for lunch? My treat.”

He watched a little smile appear on Alfred’s face. It was the same thing Alfred did for him when they were done with a more delicate subject; he stepped neatly away from it with an offer of something else. 

“Surprise me,” Alfred replied, reaching for his newspaper again. “Let’s see what a man of your culinary skills can come up with.”

Bruce laughed on his way out of the door. “Well, you taught me. If it’s bad, you know who to blame.”

He paused in the hallway, glancing back once more just to catch another glimpse of the fond look on Alfred’s face. As he reached for his tea, his fingers brushed against the certificate in a deliberate touch, as if to remind himself, and then he disappeared back into his newspaper, and Bruce quietly resumed his mission of making Alfred some lunch.

* * *

Jim knew that something was up as soon as Bruce arrived that evening. 

Bruce had come straight from work. It wasn’t stress that weighed on Bruce; as much as Jim liked to tease him over having it easy as a CEO, he knew the job could be stressful at times. He’d seen a harried version of his partner, both in the suit and out of it, Batman or otherwise. His shoulders always hunched in the same way, wound tight from the way he’d carried himself throughout the day, and that sign wasn’t there this time. This wasn’t stress. 

In fact, it was closer to the way Bruce had seemed during their last meeting as Batman and Commissioner Gordon. 

Jim wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Hey,” he said, greeting Bruce with a quick kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?”

“Good.” Bruce’s hand settled on Jim’s hip, right where it always did. The familiarity of it sent a little trickle of warmth through Jim’s chest. Bruce used it to steal another kiss, one on the lips this time, and then drew back to sniff at the air. “What’s cooking?”

“Burgers.” A smug smile crept across Jim’s face before he could help it. He knew that Bruce liked his burgers, and he could almost feel the way Bruce snapped to attention next to him. “I had a day off, I figured I could put the effort in.”

“It smells amazing.” Bruce stepped back just a little, using Jim for balance as he took off his shoes. “What else did you do with your day?”

The truth was, Jim hadn’t done much. He’d done a little cleaning, a little laundry - the basic household chores that weren’t worth him bringing up in conversation. That, coupled with a lazy morning thanks to a late shift the night before, had taken up most of his day before he’d started cooking. In short, it was nothing exciting, and it had left him plenty of time to look forward to Bruce coming over.

“Not much,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Go make yourself comfortable, dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Jim, wait.”

He paused, turning back to face Bruce again. And there, it was obvious now: Bruce was nervous, for some reason, and he was trying to hide it unsuccessfully. Jim knew him well enough now to tell.

“What’s up?” Jim came back to his side, gladly giving his hand when Bruce reached for it. 

Except, Bruce didn’t hold his hand. He turned it over, palm facing up, and placed something smooth and metal there. When Bruce took his own hand back, Jim looked down to find a key. 

He frowned. “What’s this for?”

“The manor,” Bruce said. 

Jim blinked at him. “The manor?”

“So you can come and go as you want.” Now that it was out, Bruce seemed much calmer again. The tension that had kept him wound tight had flowed away, replaced by his usual easygoing smile. “I figured you might as well have your own key since you visit all the time. This way, you can just let yourself in if you’re coming over late.”

“I’ll still gonna need you to come get me,” Jim joked. His heart felt like it had jumped up into his throat with how hard it was beating. “I don’t know my way around your place.”

“Not even just to my bedroom?” Bruce asked, eyebrows raised.

Jim rolled his eyes with a puff of laughter. “Alright, I might know my way there. Anywhere else is a gamble.”

Bruce laughed, stepping closer to Jim. His hand skimmed up Jim’s forearm and came to rest on his elbow in a gentle, fond touch. “You don’t have to take the key if you don’t want to,” he said, a little more serious again. “It’s not… I’m not asking you to move in, I know that’s a leap. I just want you to know that you’re welcome anytime, it doesn’t matter when you show up. I like having you around.”

“Well, you’re good company.” Jim closed his eyes with a smile as Bruce pressed his lips to his cheek. He curled his fingers around the key, and his heart settled back into place again. “Thanks, Bruce. Kinda wish I had a spare I could give you now.”

“There’s no rush.” Bruce chuckled; Jim felt it right down to his bones. “It  _ would _ be fun to surprise you when you come home late, though.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Jim turned to catch Bruce’s lips with his own, though the kiss didn’t last very long with the way they were both grinning. “Go make yourself at home on the couch. I need to get back to dinner or it’s gonna burn.”

Bruce laughed quietly in the middle of another quick peck. “Okay, okay.”

With one last squeeze to Jim’s forearm, Bruce vanished into the living room. Jim heard the squeak of the couch seconds later, and then the low hum of television chatter as Bruce clicked around for something to watch. The domesticity of it washed over Jim, and he closed his eyes for a second to simply appreciate the sensation. God, he loved this. He loved  _ Bruce. _

Before he went back to the kitchen, Jim added the key to the collection on his keychain, right next to the one for his own home.


	6. Chapter 6

Big gatherings were never much Bruce’s thing - he much preferred a smaller group of friends over a party any day - but being the head of Wayne Enterprises came with certain responsibilities. And when those responsibilities were attending a fundraiser for Gotham’s General Hospital, his hands were a little tied; his presence alone would draw people in, more people than just a generous donation would provide. Either way, on this occasion, it was a cause that Bruce was more than happy to put his name to, so he plastered on a nice smile and a nicer suit, and decided to attend.

And to drag Jim with him as his plus one. His reasoning was mostly that it would be good for Gotham to see Commissioner Gordon in attendance, but he also just wanted to see Jim dressed up.

Unfortunately for Bruce, he cleaned up _very_ nice.

They entered together, though they kept to a friendly distance. Their relationship wasn’t public knowledge just yet, and Bruce was happy to keep it that way for as long as it would last. Still, he couldn’t resist bumping Jim’s elbow with his own as they stood at the fringe of the main crowd, a playful smile on his lips. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’m incredibly out of place.” Jim reached up, gently tugging on his tie to loosen it just a little. “Is this how they all are?”

“This is actually one of the more cheerful ones,” Bruce said, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m just glad I’m not planning on hosting for a while. That’s the worst, can’t even escape when I want to.”

Jim’s moustache twitched with a hint of a chuckle. “Great, so I’ve got that to look forward to.”

“Comes with the territory, as much as I wish it didn’t most of the time.”

Bruce busied himself with scanning the crowd, looking for faces he recognised. There were a few scattered about the room, some with money, some with power, some with both. Not all of them had the cleanest hands in the city, but if they did good things like this with their time, Bruce was willing to let it slide just a bit. It wasn’t like he had the ability to catch them at anything anyway these days. That was all up to Jim and the GCPD now. 

“I guess I’d better mingle,” Bruce sighed. “Do you want a drink?”

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” Jim grumbled. “You’d better make it a good one.”

“By the looks of things, it’s champagne or water. Take your pick.” 

They both knew Jim would prefer something a little harder than either, but that would be waiting for them back at Wayne Manor. Jim blew out a long breath as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Eh, make it whatever you grab. What am I supposed to do while you shake hands?”

“Well, I think I see the mayor over there.” Bruce nodded across the room. 

“She’ll do,” Jim huffed.

“Hey.” Bruce dared to reach out, just enough to give Jim’s arm a quick squeeze. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’s a lot, I get it. I’m not fond of it either.”

Jim smiled at him. His eyes were full of warmth, and Bruce melted, just a little bit. God, he was head over heels for this man. “It’s alright, Bruce. I’ll hang around, you go do what you need to. Come find me when you have that drink.”

Bruce slipped into the crowd, donning the mask of a professional. He smiled and greeted people, laughed at unfunny jokes, and made small talk. For the most part, he breezed through the conversations without fully taking it in - aside from the few that were genuine friends, or other members of the Wayne Enterprises board that were also in attendance. It was tiring, though, and if Bruce had the option, he’d take another press conference over this any day of the week. 

He took a breather as he floated away from a small group that had assembled, idly glancing around the room. There was Jim, still caught up in a conversation with the mayor, and then the trail of people that Bruce had spoken to so far. There weren’t many other familiar faces.

That was probably enough.

He helped himself to a couple of glasses of something fizzy as a waiter passed - sparkling water, he realised, not champagne - and decided to make his way back to Jim.

Bruce was halfway across the room when someone stopped him again. This wasn’t the polite wave and smile from an acquaintance, though; there was a hand on his arm, resting there delicately, to draw his attention to its owner. Calmly, Bruce turned to offer her a greeting.

She was, admittedly, pretty, with her long dark hair and matching dress. Whoever she was, she was beautiful and elegant, and, judging by the way Bruce could feel her eyeing him up, dangerously aware of what she wanted. A corner of her lips tugged upwards in a little smirk as she finally met his gaze.

If he had been single, Bruce would have considered making a move. He already knew where this was going, though, and he wasn’t interested in the slightest bit. 

“Fancy bumping into you,” she said, as if they were old friends. Her hand was still on his arm. Bruce carefully freed himself. “You look wonderful tonight, Mr. Wayne.”

“Thank you.” Bruce cleared his throat, and shot a quick look around the room. Where had Jim gone? He was desperate for an easy out. This was unbearably uncomfortable - funny later, undoubtedly, but Bruce almost wanted to laugh with how awkward he felt. “Are you enjoying the fundraiser?”

Her smile widened. “I’m enjoying it more now I’ve got some decent company.”

This was enough for Bruce. This was plenty. He wished he didn’t have such a public image to keep up so he could just be blunt instead. Where the fuck had his date gone?

Bruce spotted a familiar figure across the room, standing by himself now, and relief flooded through him. “Sorry, but I need to get back to my friend,” Bruce said, casting the lady an apologetic smile. “I’ve kept him waiting long enough. Enjoy the evening.” And then, as neatly as he could, he stepped into the crowd and lost himself in it.

Within minutes, he was back with Jim, offering him a glass. “What’s up?” Jim asked, frowning as he took it. “You look more awkward than I feel. Oh, God, this isn’t champagne at all.”

“Yeah, sorry. And, uh, just…” Bruce glanced back across the crowd. The woman was gone, lost once more among the sea of people. “An admirer.”

Jim coughed. Bruce knew he was covering up a laugh. “An admirer?”

“Unfortunately.” Bruce sighed, and took a sip of his drink. “People take these events as an opportunity to flirt. I… wasn’t expecting it, especially not when I’m already… you know.” 

Much to his embarrassment, Jim began to snicker. “Of course _you_ get flirted with. You’re Bruce Wayne. As far as the public’s concerned, you’re single and handsome. I’m not surprised someone tried to pounce on you.”

“Well, I’d rather it was someone very specific.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at Jim over the rim of his glass. “I guess I just forgot about the whole bachelor thing considering recent developments.” He’d been so wrapped up in his relationship with Jim that it simply hadn’t crossed his mind. Between that, his healing, and the plans with Wayne Enterprises, his public image hadn’t been much of a concern, really.

“Oh, I haven’t heard the end of it. You wouldn’t believe how much some of the cops at the GCPD read those gossip magazines. They’re all over you.” Jim grimaced as he swallowed another sip of his sparkling water, and then set it down on the nearest table. “Alright, I’m ready to go whenever you are. I can’t take another sip of that stuff.”

A laugh bubbled out of Bruce. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, but he set his glass down next to Jim’s. 

“I’d better fucking not get used to it.” Jim turned for the exit, and Bruce fell into step beside him, naturally matching his pace. “Might have to have a drink when we get back to your place just to get rid of the taste of it.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his mirth. “You’re being dramatic.” 

“So what if I am?” Jim hunched into his suit jacket a little as they stepped out into the cold night air. He turned to grin at Bruce, though, and Bruce’s heart squeezed in his chest. God, he loved Jim. 

“I like it.” Bruce dug into his pocket for his keys - it wasn't the Batmobile, but he did think back to it where it was hidden down in the Batcave for now. He realised with some private amusement that he hadn’t shown Jim that yet. That was definitely something to show off later.

* * *

Jim didn’t keep his hands to himself for very long.

Bruce was annoyingly handsome - that was an established fact, one that he’d known before they’d started dating, and it was something that he now lived with. The man looked good in anything, from too big sweats to a fitted suit, and it wasn’t the slightest bit fair. While Jim had been focused on the fundraiser throughout the evening, he was also painfully aware of how damn _good_ Bruce looked in his suit. It was almost effortless, and Jim was both a little jealous and stupidly horny.

He waited until Bruce parked his flashy car in his garage and switched off the engine, and then he pounced.

Well, less pounced and more reached over to pull Bruce in by the collar. It got the message across. He sealed his mouth to Bruce’s, drawing a surprised but pleased noise out of him. Bruce’s hands dropped to their seatbelts, fumbling for a moment before they clicked and released them both. Jim tumbled into him a little harder than he’d meant to, but Bruce just grabbed at him anyway, rumpling up Jim’s suit jacket.

As Jim dipped down to kiss his way down Bruce’s neck, Bruce tipped his head back, inviting him to continue. “Not that I’m complaining,” he panted, fingers scrambling up to comb through Jim’s hair, “but what brought this on?”

“Do you have any fucking idea how good you look in that suit?” Jim muttered against his skin. God, he wanted to leave a hickey, but it would be far too visible there. That would really give the press something to talk about. “It’s _criminal,_ Bruce.”

Bruce laughed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. It was a lower sound, quiet and warm and aroused, and it was one that Jim was quickly becoming very fond of. “Well, don’t let me stop you from doing your job, Commissioner,” he teased. He inhaled a sharp breath as Jim dropped a hand to his dick, pressing against it through his slacks.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that in bed,” Jim pointed out. He hadn’t meant to go for Bruce’s dick so quickly - it had been more of a playful warning than anything else - but now that he was here, he curved his fingers around the shape of Bruce to give him a slow squeeze. A whine slipped out between Bruce’s teeth, and his head hit the driver’s seat with a thump. “Got something you wanna tell me?”

Somehow, Bruce managed a breathy chuckle. “You keep setting me up for perfect opportunities, Jim.” He rocked up into Jim’s palm, his whole body rolling with the motion. “You didn’t wanna wait to get upstairs?”

“Nope.” Jim nipped at Bruce’s skin anyway, but left it just at that. He worked his way down to his throat, pausing only to open the top few buttons of Bruce’s shirt one handed. Jim nuzzled into the new skin, simply exploring and kissing as he teased Bruce, rubbing his thumb against his dick in little circles. “I’ve been wanting to do this all fucking evening, you think I’m waiting the ten minutes it takes to get up to your room?”

Jim lifted his hand away - Bruce _whimpered,_ and God, that sent a bolt of heat straight to Jim’s dick - and quickly unbuckled Bruce’s belt. He left it hanging open on either side of his hips before diving at his slacks, hastily working them open so he could slide his hand into Bruce’s underwear, going straight for skin on skin. Bruce gasped, arching back against the seat again and tightening his grip on the back of Jim’s jacket.

“Fuck, Jim,” he hissed, bucking up into his fist as Jim stroked him, back to nice and slow now that he had a hand on him again. Jim pressed a hand on his hips, holding him down against his seat as he smoothed his thumb over the head, gathering the slick there to work it down his dick. 

“S’the idea,” Jim snickered. Bruce laughed quietly again, only to cut himself off with a bitten off moan as Jim twisted his wrist. “Hey, Bruce?”

“Mm?” Bruce cracked his eyes open, meeting Jim’s. There was a flush across his cheeks, and Jim could feel the tension drawing him tight like a bowstring. Bruce’s thighs twitched a little with the effort of _not_ just fucking into Jim’s fist. 

Jim licked his lips. “Can I blow you?”

“Oh, _fuck_ .” Bruce’s eyes snapped shut again as he shivered. _“Please,_ Jim.”

That was all the invitation he needed. He gave Bruce a fierce kiss on the lips, and then began a trail down the exposed part of his torso. Jim skipped over his middle where his shirt was still buttoned, but he did linger for a moment at his waist; he shoved a hand under Bruce’s shirt, untucking it and leaving it wrinkled as he mouthed down Bruce’s short happy trail. He kept his fingers circled around the base of Bruce’s dick, steadying it as he finally reached it. 

Jim had always thought that ‘pretty’ was an odd word to use for dicks, because as much as he liked them, he never spent much time staring them down. He was usually pretty occupied with doing things with them instead. There was only one word to describe Bruce’s dick, though: it genuinely was _pretty,_ perfectly curved and comfortable in his hand. Spit pooled under his tongue as he leaned in to press a kiss against the side of it, and Jim swallowed so he didn’t start drooling immediately.

His lips parted around the head of Bruce’s dick, and he lowered just enough to take that first inch onto his tongue. Bruce’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, then relaxed again as he exhaled a desperate moan. Jim’s dick throbbed just at the sound alone, but he wasn’t interested in touching himself right now. He had other matters to attend to.

Jim was, admittedly, just as eager for it as Bruce, but he forced himself to take it slow. He wanted to enjoy this, take his time with it - or as much time as the awkward space of the car would allow.

He bobbed down lower, letting Bruce’s dick press his tongue down, and then back up again. With the pace set, Jim pressed down to where his fingers still held Bruce steady, occasionally squeezing and, now, stroking, too. The way Bruce whimpered and skimmed his hands over his shoulders was incredibly gratifying, but the real cherry on top was Bruce’s fingers sliding into his hair to just hold. If there was one thing Bruce was, it was respectful, and he didn’t use his grip to do much more than rest there. 

Jim sucked a little harder on the next downstroke, and Bruce’s nails scratched at his scalp. God, that was hot, though. 

“Jim,” Bruce gasped, deliberately relaxing his fingers so they didn’t tangle. “Jim, fuck, I’m close-”

He didn’t pull up to answer; he didn’t want to tease _that_ much. It was just further encouragement. It was his own breaking point, though, and Jim sacrificed his arm across Bruce’s hips to squeeze it down instead, just to palm himself and ease the ache of his trapped dick.

Bruce was immediately alive, shifting, hips twitching with barely restrained bucks. Distantly, Jim heard the rattle of the seat again, and glanced up just enough to see the exposed column of Bruce’s throat; his head was tipped back once more, resting back as he grasped at Jim, his other hand fluttering uselessly between his seat and gripping at the crumpled knee of his slacks. Bruce was a sight to behold in the middle of sex; Jim groaned as he closed his eyes, and Bruce shivered underneath him, rolling up into his mouth just the slightest bit. 

Reluctantly, Jim let himself go. He sucked in a breath through his nose and started jerking Bruce off a little quicker, teasing just a little more with his tongue right at the head. Bruce was close; his thighs were trembling in that barely noticeable way they did right before he came, and Jim could feel it under his forearm.

“Jim…” Bruce folded forwards, head bowed now, almost far enough to knock against Jim’s. “Jim, Jim, _Jim-_ ”

Bruce’s hips rolled up as he came, just enough to work out his excess energy, but not enough to choke Jim. He heard his own name spilling out between breathy moans and gasps as he swallowed, and he hadn’t even realised Bruce had tightened his hold on his hair until he loosened it again. Jim slowed his stroking, leaving Bruce with a few delicate licks to the head, just to finish him off with the aftershocks. 

Jim tucked Bruce back in and rose up, and before he could even wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, Bruce yanked him forwards into a clumsy, desperate kiss.

“Fuck,” Bruce gasped, holding onto Jim with shaking fingers. “Jesus Christ, Jim. Come here.” 

“Nah, I’ll wait until we get upstairs.” Jim pecked his cheek. “Think you can walk yet?”

“Give me a second.” Bruce laughed, quiet and breathless, as he tried to fix his shirt. “You know, I think that’s the closest I’ve ever come to being a typical rich asshole.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured around them. “I just got a blowjob in my fancy car, while I was still in the driver’s seat.”

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You haven’t done that before?”

“No.” Bruce laughed. It was a good look on him with his cheeks still tinged pink. “You’d be the first. I never really brought people back to the manor; that’s not great for security.”

“You never cease to fucking surprise me.” Jim shook his head, smiling. “Makes sense.”

Bruce opened the door to climb out, and Jim followed him, stretching his stiff muscles. “ _You_ surprise _me._ I didn’t think you were the type to do something like that.”

Feeling like a giddy teenager all over again, Jim winked at him. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” 

They didn’t make it far before Bruce had his hands on him again. Jim was just grateful that it was already late; the last thing he needed was for the one other person in this giant building to stumble upon them while Bruce was valiantly trying to get a hand down his pants. 

“Bruce,” he said, laughing as Bruce gently pushed him up against a wall, “we’re never gonna get there if you keep this up. You’ll be able to go again by the time we get there.”

Bruce flashed him a smile. “Well, that’d be a nice bonus, but let’s take care of you first.”

They did get there eventually, but only because Jim kept inching them along until he could feel across the wall for the doorhandle. He tugged Bruce inside, tempting him in with a kiss, and kicked the door shut behind himself. Finally, he could get the damn suit off of Bruce; he shoved the jacket off of his shoulders and onto the floor, and he ruined the progress Bruce had made on his shirt buttons. Distantly, he was aware of Bruce doing the same right back to him, but he didn’t pay much attention until he felt Bruce loosening his tie and edging him back against the bed.

“Sit,” Bruce said, gently pressing on his chest.

Jim sat. His slacks were already sagging down his thighs, and he shoved them down to pool at his ankles. He was about to shrug his shirt off too, but his breath caught when Bruce dropped to his knees in front of him, his palms resting lightly on his thighs, just below the legs of his underwear. 

Bruce grinned up at him.

“Shit,” Jim breathed. 

Bruce leaned in, closing his eyes almost peacefully as he kissed Jim’s dick through his underwear. He felt the warm puff of his breath through the cotton, and Jim bit the inside of his cheek as Bruce traced the painfully obvious outline of his dick with his mouth. His toes curled against the carpet as Bruce raised up, just a little, just enough to tug on his waistband. Wordless, desperate, Jim lifted his hips so Bruce could tug them down and let them crumple within Jim’s slacks.

Apparently, Bruce was electing to go without using his hands. He kept them seated on Jim’s thighs, squeezing gently as he leaned in to drag his tongue up the side of his cock. Jim saw stars, a groan rattling around in his chest as he shifted a hand to hold onto Bruce’s shoulder.

“Shit, Bruce,” he breathed. “I’m not gonna last long after the car.”

There was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Then I’ll get down to business.”

He rolled his tongue over the head of Jim’s dick before he actually lowered to take him into his mouth. Jim closed his eyes tightly for just a moment, just to get past the initial shock of warm wetness; it was dizzying after leaving himself to wait for so long. His fingers crumpled the shoulder of Bruce’s shirt as he slowly, tortuously, rose up again, right back up to the head, and then paused, looking up at Jim with too big, bright blue eyes.

Jim was so, so fucked.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bruce,” he hissed, all in one breath. His hand shifted, moving restlessly to comb through Bruce’s hair, messing it up even further. It had been carefully styled earlier for the fundraiser, but now it was a state after their kissing and Bruce’s wriggling. Jim decided he liked messing Bruce up just a little, in ways like creasing his suit or ruffling his usually pristine hair. 

Bruce paused, and he reached up to lay his hand over Jim’s. He pressed down on the back of Jim’s hand, guiding himself a little further back down his dick again.

Jim’s throat closed up for a moment at the implication. “You want me to…?”

Bruce winked. He flicked his tongue against Jim’s dick.

 _“Shit.”_ A shiver ran through Jim as he took the silent invitation. He eased Bruce down, watching as he closed his eyes. Bruce’s mouth was slack, leaving Jim room to move him as he pleased, and it was one of the most unexpectedly filthy things that could have come from Bruce. Part of him wondered what else Bruce still had hidden up his sleeve after all these months together, and then Jim firmly shut down that line of thinking before it could go too far. He’d let Bruce have his surprises, and maybe Jim would last longer than thirty seconds.

He was still careful as he moved Bruce; Jim cupped his head rather than tangling his fingers in his hair, and he kept things slow, though that also gave him the benefit of not coming instantly. Jim’s eyes wanted to flutter shut, but he kept them open, transfixed by the sight of Bruce with his lips around his cock.

Bruce wasn’t as patient, though. His hands slid higher up Jim’s thighs, scraping the fine hair there the wrong way, so he could wrap his hand around his dick. Jim inhaled sharply at the new contact, his free hand tangling into the sheets underneath him as Bruce began to jack him off in time with his bobbing. 

Bowing his head forwards a little, Jim bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his groan, just a little. “Fuck, Bruce,” he gasped. His hand dropped back to his shoulder, simply to hold on again, and Bruce took over smoothly; he settled into a much quicker pace than the one Jim had been keeping up, and it sent him spiralling towards his peak. His lips stayed parted for his sharp little breaths, and he was pretty sure he was going to actually ruin Bruce’s shirt if he wasn’t careful about how tightly he was holding it.

Bruce hummed, a quiet little affirmative sound, as if he was replying to Jim. It sent the vibration tingling up along Jim’s nerve endings, and his eyes snapped shut as his orgasm suddenly swept him off of his feet.

He hunched over Bruce, hissing his name out in a long, drawn out moan. Bruce stayed firmly where he was, touching and lapping and _squeezing,_ and Jim shuddered as it sent pleasant sparks fizzing through his body in the aftermath. It wasn’t until Jim winced that Bruce actually let up, and even then he grinned and pressed one last kiss to the head of Jim’s dick before he actually left him alone.

“You are a fucking menace,” Jim growled, bending down the last few inches to kiss Bruce.

Bruce laughed into it, more of a shake of his shoulders than an actual noise. When Jim gave him room, Bruce pulled himself up onto his feet, only to drop onto the edge of the bed next to Jim. “I do try,” he said, lazy and warm, as he leaned in to trade a few more slow, clumsy kisses. Jim reached up to cup his cheek, thumbing the familiar line of his jaw and the slight rasp of new stubble. 

It was the perfect way to come down from their earlier frenzy. Jim felt the weight of sleepiness beginning to pull him down towards the bed, but he resisted at first. Gently, he parted from Bruce, planting one more quick kiss on him before he started to get rid of his half unbuttoned shirt. He shrugged it off and left it on the floor for now; his limbs were too jelly-like to bother putting anything away properly. He’d save it for the morning. 

He and Bruce managed to stumble their way into underwear, and then they tumbled into bed. Jim sunk into the now familiar sheets, luxuriating in the softness of them against his skin. And then there was Bruce, warm and inviting under the covers, and Jim looped an arm around him to tug him closer. 

“Can I help you?” Bruce asked, mirth laced under the tiredness in his voice.

“Mhm.” Jim sat up briefly, just long enough to set his glasses on the nightstand, and then he sunk back into Bruce’s side. “I know you’ve got a giant fucking bed, but I’m keeping you over this side, if you don’t mind.”

Bruce chuckled, his voice muted in the darkness of the bedroom. “I don’t mind at all.” He rolled over to face Jim, and he felt the barest brush of lips against his cheek as sleep claimed him.

* * *

The following morning was one of the rare occasions when neither Bruce nor Jim needed to be up for work. Bruce was the first awake, and after a luxurious stretch to enjoy the sun streaming in through the windows and the heat of a still mostly naked Jim at his side, Bruce decided he’d treat him to some breakfast in bed. He knew what Jim liked by now and it was simple enough, and he could even bring him the morning paper, too.

Armed with his plan, Bruce pulled on a t-shirt and sweats, and headed out into the manor.

By the time he returned, Jim was awake but still lounging in bed. His glasses were on, which meant he was up for the day now, and he glanced up from his phone when the door opened. “Morning. Wondered where you’d gone.”

“I was getting breakfast.” Bruce set the tray over Jim’s lap, pleased with the spread of coffee and eggs on toast, and circled back around to his own side of the bed. He still had the paper under his arm, but he unfurled it as he settled back down in bed. “Hey, by the way, Jim, did you know I’m off the market?”

“I had no idea,” Jim said dryly. He took the newspaper when Bruce offered it, and then barked out a laugh as soon as he saw the headline. “Really? _‘Is Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor Off The Market?’_ They didn’t have anything better to run before lunch? I thought the _Gazette_ was better than that.”

Bruce reached over, helping himself to a bite of Jim’s breakfast. “Read it,” he said, nodding towards it. “It’s from last night.”

Jim paused, shaking the paper back a little. “Last night? What do you mean?”

Bruce pointed to a paragraph a little way down the page. “There. _‘An anonymous source claims that Wayne was seen turning down advances last night’_...” 

“... _‘in favour of spending time with GCPD’s Commissioner Gordon?’_ ” Jim finished, incredulous. “What are they implying?”

“You know what they’re implying, but they don’t have proof. It’s why they phrased it like that.” 

Jim folded the paper again with a snort. “They’re right, but it’s still a little presumptuous.” He said it aside for now so he could make a start on his breakfast. “Thanks, by the way, Bruce.”

“Of course.” Bruce smiled, and he met Jim halfway for a quick kiss. “So, you don’t want the press to know just yet?”

“Well, they’re gonna find out eventually. Even _I’m_ high profile enough for them to care about who I’m dating for at least one story. I’m just not used to it on the same scale as you.” Jim wrinkled his nose. “Honestly, there’s more important things they could report on.”

Bruce shrugged. “Unfortunately, it sells. Most of it’s bullshit anyway, so I haven’t always paid attention.” He stretched out, sinking back against his pillow, tilted just enough to rest against Jim. “If you want this kept between us, though, we can always deny it.”

Jim was quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully as he looked towards the window, and Bruce let him be. He watched as Jim washed down his mouthful with a cup of coffee, and then sighed. “It’ll get out eventually,” he said, “and I know I’m in this for the long haul. As long as you are too, I’m okay with confirming it if a reporter outright asks.”

Ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest, Bruce nodded. “I am, too. Both parts, I mean. The long haul and confirming it.”

Jim’s fingers idly tangled with Bruce’s. His thumb rubbed little circles into the back of his hand. “Who would’ve thought,” he huffed, laughing quietly. “You know, back when you were Batman, getting with you was already a longshot. I didn’t think I’d ever find out your identity, let alone tell you how I felt. I feel like I won the jackpot.”

“I think I’m the real winner here.” Bruce grinned, and finally he indulged the gentle feeling he’d been dancing around for the past few weeks. “Besides, we’ve been in a relationship for a little while anyway. I already told you that I love you. We just never talked about it.” He glanced over, somehow managing to feel a little shy. “The _Gazette_ got one thing right at least. I haven’t been with anyone else since… well, since before the Pact stuff, actually, way before we started dating.”

“I figured as much,” Jim chuckled. He gave Bruce’s hand one more squeeze, and then let go to continue eating. “It’s been fucking years for me, so you don’t have to worry about any competition.”

“I’m happy to keep you to myself.” Bruce smiled at the sound of Jim’s laugh, elated that he was just able to hear it. “So… you really are happy for me to say yes? I wouldn’t name names unless they brought you up first. It’s okay to change your mind.”

“Go for it.” Jim shrugged, lifting his toast to offer Bruce a bite. He leaned in to take it. “Can’t stop ‘em if they already know. I’d rather they heard it from one of us. As long as you’re not making any plans for a dramatic proposal on air.”

“Oh, God, no.” Bruce pulled a face. “I can’t think of a worse way to do something like that.” His life was public enough as it was; if it came to something like that with Jim in the future - and that thought was enough to fluster Bruce - there was no way in hell he’d be caught doing it anywhere that the public could see. 

Jim was laughing, though, brushing it off along with the crumbs on his lap. “Well, here’s hoping we get a little more peace before the press get involved. What’s the plan for today?”

“Not sure.” Bruce drummed his fingers on his knee, thinking. There were a few ideas he could come up with that didn’t involve leaving the bedroom again - and sure, maybe later he’d suggest coming back upstairs - but he lit up as something occurred to him. “Actually, you know I mentioned my secret lair?”

“Ha! Of course I didn’t forget.” Jim cradled his mug as he drained the last few sips of coffee. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he turned a fond look on Bruce. “What about it?”

Bruce grinned. “Wanna see it?”

* * *

“You’re shitting me, Bruce.”

They stood just inside the entrance of the Batcave, looking out across the metal walkways and platforms. Bruce felt a little tug in his chest; he hadn’t been down here since… well, since the whole thing with the Pact, not counting his brief trip to listen to the police scanners. It had been dark and quiet down here for so long after so many years of activity. At one time, he’d found himself at the Batcomputer almost daily. Part of him longed for it, but the rest of him knew better. It was a dangerous game he had played, and he’d barely survived it. 

Bruce was good at restraint, but he hadn’t really wanted to tempt fate by coming down here alone. 

Being down here with Jim was different, though. It was just a little tour, a chance to show off some of the tech that he and Alfred had developed over the years. Jim had earned it, really, after being Batman’s most vocal supporter for so long. 

He tucked his hands into his pockets, grinning. “I’m not shitting you. I did - do - have a secret underground lair.”

Jim squinted across the room. “Is that the Batmobile over there?”

“Yeah. We’ll get there.”

Bruce tugged gently on his elbow, leading him to the right, where his memorabilia stood behind glass. He had never added anything to signify Harley or her crew, Bruce realised, but there was no need. He didn’t plan on spending much time down here. This was Tiffany's workspace now, not his.

They breezed past the Batcomputer, pausing only to show Jim the holographic map of Gotham. He was understandably fascinated by it, and even more delighted to see how interactive it was. Bruce zoomed in on a particular area, walking him along the docks and showing him how he could pull up old incident reports for it. 

“Well, that’d be fucking useful,” Jim said thoughtfully. 

Bruce glanced over at him, the beginnings of a smile pulling on his lips. “Maybe we can arrange something in the new HQ.”

“Huh.” Jim tapped at the hologram to close a tab. “If you’re willing to share the tech…”

“I’ll ask Tiffany to work it out.”

They moved on to the opposite side, to where Bruce’s Batsuits hung. He felt a pang as they approached, and while Jim occupied himself with inspecting one, Bruce let his fingers drift to the glass of the second. Longing wasn’t the word for what he felt; he didn’t want to go back, not really. He was too injured, and he wouldn’t be the same Batman without Alfred anyway. It felt odd, though, to see himself staring back in the glass, right over the cowl.

No, it wasn’t yearning; it was just about what it represented. For Bruce, it had been a lifetime of the desire for justice, to do good. It was only now that he was a little older and a little wiser that he knew that he could do just as much good with his very fortunate position. 

“I didn’t even know you switched suits,” Jim said.

“Mhm.” Bruce tore himself away from the glass, moving to stand next to Jim instead. “That one was just a little past repair after Lady Arkham. I only wore it until Alfred and I made the new one, and then I made the switch. I figured it was worth keeping, though, just in case I needed it.”

“Would’ve been a shame to throw it away,” Jim agreed. 

Idly, Bruce watched Jim in the reflection of the glass. Jim was an open book as long as you knew what to look for. Right now, he seemed a little pensive; if he had to hazard a guess, Bruce would’ve said Jim was thinking back to everything before, when they had been Batman and Commissioner Gordon, not Bruce and Jim.

“Did you ever try to figure out who I was?” Bruce asked, curious.

“I thought about it.” Jim shrugged. “But I didn’t want to betray you like that. Our working relationship was great, and you were a good friend. It wouldn’t have felt right.”

Bruce’s heart squeezed. Jim really was such a good man. “If anyone could’ve figured it out, it would’ve been you.” He was sure there were tells he’d slipped up on over the years, despite how careful he had been. Part of him had been desperate for Jim to figure it out on his own anyway, in the hope that their easy friendship could have translated into more without Bruce ever having to deliberately tell him and risk losing it all.

He was glad he’d taken the step, though. At the time, he’d been so focused on the end result that he hadn’t considered how _good_ it had felt to come clean to Jim himself.

And, after all, it had brought him this.

Bruce’s fingers curled around Jim’s, simply to feel the weight of his hand in his own. “Do you want to see the Batmobile?”

“I thought you’d never fucking ask,” Jim groaned. The sound was similar enough to others he'd made in pleasure that Bruce would have blushed if it hadn't been for the spark of delighted curiosity on Jim's face. 

He laughed, leading the way back down the walkway. “You’ve already ridden in it, actually.”

Jim frowned. “No, I definitely haven’t. I’ve dreamed about that car enough, sure, but I haven’t been inside it.”

Bruce felt for his keys in his pocket. “You have,” he assured him. “It’s actually my red car.”

He heard Jim’s footsteps stop, and then felt the tug on his arm as he fell a step behind. “More tech?” Jim asked, looking almost pleading. “How did you ever make this shit?”

“Alfred and Lucius,” Bruce said simply. His thumb hovered over the subtle button on the side of the fob, but he didn’t press it yet. “I wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far with Batman without them.”

Jim sighed, his gaze shifting to focus on the Batmobile. “Alright, let’s see it.”

Bruce grinned, and he clicked.

“You’re _shitting_ me, Bruce.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bruce looked up when there was a knock at his office door. He was in Wayne Tower, and Iman sat opposite him, her ever present tablet in her lap. They both paused mid conversation, expecting someone from elsewhere in the building to announce themselves, but the door opened after a beat to reveal Jim. Bruce desperately tried to hold back his delighted grin.

Jim was carrying two cups of coffee. Bruce could see the label from here; they were the telltale one of Jim’s usual place. He recognised the branding, because they traded off on getting each other coffee so often now that Bruce didn’t visit anywhere else. Just last week, he’d dropped by the GCPD under the pretence of discussing something with Commissioner Gordon, but had brought him a hot drink to get him through the rest of the day instead. 

“Oh! Commissioner Gordon!” Iman waved him in. Jim closed the door behind him, looking a little flustered. “What brings you here?”

It was then that Bruce realised two things. The first was that Jim had been expecting the office to be empty except for him. 

The second was that Iman didn’t know about their relationship.

He could lie, he supposed. He could tell Iman that Jim was here to discuss how things were going with the GCPD build. The words were on the tip of Bruce’s tongue, ready to roll out smoothly to cover things over before Iman could look too closely.

But when the truth came out, he didn’t want Iman to be left as surprised as everyone else. She was as important as Alfred and Tiffany, and they had known for almost the length of the relationship. Besides, Jim was only just beginning to look relaxed again after being a deer in the headlights, so Bruce figured the truth was the best route. He trusted Iman.

Bruce cleared his throat. “This needs to stay between us,” he said slowly. “Jim is here for personal business, not work.”

Iman turned back to Bruce, studying his face. He knew she was good at reading between the lines; she had been a profiler, after all, and had figured out his secret identity as Batman, so when understanding smoothed out her features, Bruce knew she had come to the right conclusion. 

That, and her wicked smile clued him in.

“I see,” she said, standing up and gathering her things. “Don’t let me get in the way.”

Jim, still at the door, frowned. “Bruce…”

“Iman’s trustworthy,” he promised. Then, turning pleading eyes on Iman, he added, “Please don’t let this get around.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Iman winked, nudged Jim further into Bruce’s office, and then let herself out. The last thing Bruce saw of her was her grin around the door before it closed.

Bruce offered Jim a sheepish smile. “Hi, Jim.”

Jim made his way over, huffing a quiet laugh. “Afternoon, Bruce. I guess I should’ve expected to walk in with someone else in here at some point. Here’s your coffee.”

“Oh, God, thank you.” Bruce’s eyes ached with tiredness. He’d been staring at the screen far too much today. He cradled the cardboard cup as he lifted it, taking a few quick gulps and ignoring how scalding it was. “Have I said lately how lucky I am to have you? Because I am incredibly lucky to have you.”

“It’s just coffee, Bruce,” Jim chuckled. He shook his head as he sunk into Iman’s recently vacated seat, lifting his own cup. “Haven’t you got a coffee machine in this place?”

“It doesn’t come hand delivered by a certain handsome cop.” Bruce shot him a playful little smile, and was rewarded with a light flush on Jim’s cheeks. 

Jim took a few sips of his coffee, and when he lowered the cup again, his blush had faded. “Don’t need to be such a charmer, you’re already dating me.”

“Maybe I just like charming you.” 

The truth was, he _did_ like charming Jim. Bruce wasn’t the kind of guy to throw around his money to treat his partner - he knew that Jim wouldn’t appreciate that anyway, even if he was that sort of person - but he wanted Jim to know all the good things he thought about him. Bruce loved surprising him with a compliment here or there, and he loved sweeping Jim into his arms to simply share some of the affection that so often filled him up when he was near him. So far, there hadn’t been any complaints, despite Jim huffing nearly every time.

“Careful, Bruce.” Jim raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You sound like you’re trying to get yourself somewhere.”

Sensing the change in tone, Bruce shifted in his seat. “I wasn’t,” he said, tilting his head with his own lazy smile, “but what if I was?”

“Jesus.” Jim’s cheeks coloured again. He set his coffee down carefully. “You can’t tell me you wanna have sex in here just after Avesta cleared out. That door is unlocked, Bruce.”

For the most part, Bruce was playing along, extending the joke with Jim. He didn’t know if it would lead to anything right now or even later once they were both done for the day, but it was a fun thing to entertain. “It doesn’t have to be wide open,” Bruce said. “I have a key. I have extra security. I don’t leave it unlocked when I go home.”

“You’re making it sound like you’ve done that in here before.”

“I haven’t,” Bruce admitted. “Much like bringing you back to the manor, it would be the first time.”

“Huh.” Jim considered him, clearly surprised. 

“I know the press likes to suspect what goes on up here,” Bruce said, gesturing around to his office, “but this is where I work. I wouldn’t bring casual flings up here, that’d be a ridiculous breach in security. You’re different. You’re the commissioner, and my partner.” 

He felt his cheeks heat a little at the term; there hadn’t really been many opportunities to say it out loud, considering the people who did know already knew Jim anyway. Bruce had thought about it, of course. ‘Boyfriend’ seemed too casual, ‘lover’ was ridiculous and didn’t seem to carry the same emotional weight, and ‘spouse’ wasn’t even close to being applicable at only a handful of months in. Judging by the way ‘partner’ made the almost near constant worry frowns in Jim’s face relax, though, Bruce had hit the nail on the head with the right one.

“That’s really sweet for someone who was trying to justify getting laid in his office.” Jim smiled at him, and Bruce laughed, ignoring the way he could still feel his face burning.

“Less justify,” Bruce said, carefully trying to compose himself again, “and more joking about it and seeing if it happens.”

Jim stood, circling around Bruce’s desk to come around to his side. He swivelled to face him, admittedly curious to see where he was going with this; Jim had surprised him before, and Bruce wondered if he was about to do so again. He was suddenly very, very glad he’d made a trip home for a nice, _thorough_ shower on his lunch break, though he’d expected that to come in handy later, not now.

Just in case, he reached over to press a key. The door to his office clicked.

“It’s locked,” Bruce said, almost conversationally. “My office is the only one on this floor.”

“I figured.” Jim reached out a hand, and Bruce took it, using it to haul himself to his feet. He grinned as Jim tugged him closer, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You know, we can get right back to justifying it. I’ve got time.”

Bruce took his opportunity. He laid his hands on Jim’s hips and walked him backwards, towards the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk. It was more satisfying than he’d imagined to press Jim against the glass and kiss him hard; if they were doing this right now, Bruce didn’t have the patience for slow and sweet. He _wanted_ Jim.

“I’m glad you could fit me into your busy schedule,” Bruce murmured against his lips, and then, smirking, he added, “Commissioner.”

His world spun, and then _he_ was the one with his back against the glass. Jim’s lips were back on his in an instant, and Bruce almost whimpered at the hint of teeth against his bottom lip. 

“Third time,” Jim muttered, squeezing Bruce’s hips. His knees felt like jelly for just a moment. “Third time you’ve called me _‘Commissioner’_ while getting off.”

Jim nosed under his jaw, kissing at newly exposed skin, and Bruce grinned up at the ceiling. “Alright, so maybe it’s a little attractive on you.” It had certainly starred in some late night thoughts of Bruce’s while he’d still been Batman, when his desire for Jim had been much more private; there had been an element of something forbidden about it that had been so tempting on top of his general attraction to Jim.

“You know, I _have_ just come from the station.” Jim dropped a hand to his pocket, and all of Bruce’s blood shot south with dizzying speed when he saw the edge of a set of handcuffs peeking out. “If you really wanna run with it…”

“Fuck, yes, I do,” Bruce breathed, the words tripping over themselves in a rush.

Jim paused, raising up again to peck Bruce’s cheek, much lighter and more sweetly than before. “You’re sure?”

Bruce laughed, a little breathless. “Jim, do you have any idea how hard I am just from the implication of what you can do with that? I didn’t know how interested I was in that until around five seconds ago. Yes, please, continue. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

The handcuffs clinked as Jim lifted them from his pocket. He flicked them open with one hand, and with the other he took one of Bruce’s wrists in his own. “You’d better,” he said, lightly poking him in the chest with the end of the handcuffs. “You say the word, they come off.”

Jim slipped them around his wrists and pressed them closed. He left it with a little bit of give, just enough so they wouldn’t be uncomfortable after too long. The metal was cold at first, but warmed quickly now that it rested against Bruce’s skin; that and the way that Jim’s hands skimmed back to his hips had heat pooling in Bruce’s stomach anyway. “I don’t think they’ll be coming off,” he said, tugging gently to see how far apart he could move his hands. Not very. “I hope you have the key for after we’re done, though.” 

In answer, Jim’s hand disappeared back into his pocket to retrieve it. He wiggled it for emphasis before dropping it back in where it belonged. “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t have it. That’d be an embarrassing trip to the station.” Jim’s hands fluttered up again, coming to rest on Bruce’s forearms. “You good?”

Bruce slouched back against the glass. He nodded, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Then turn around.”

He exhaled in a rush as his dick throbbed. Bruce did as he was asked, with a little help from Jim’s wandering hands along the way. They guided Bruce’s arms over his head so he could lean against his elbows and, Bruce belatedly realised, not touch himself. 

There was a brief rustle, and then Jim fitted himself against Bruce’s back. His coat was gone now - draped across the chair, probably, Bruce thought - and his fingers went to work on Bruce’s shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his pants almost casually. It was only when he felt the brush of Jim’s forearm against his bare side as he reached for the front of his shirt that he realised Jim had rolled his sleeves up, and Bruce had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the whine that almost escaped at the thought. He could _picture_ Jim as clearly as if he could see him, and he desperately wanted to make that picture a reality. It was a hotter image than when Jim had worn a suit to that fundraiser.

He didn’t turn around, though.

Jim’s hands travelled further around, tackling Bruce’s belt next, but they didn’t do much more than open it and leave it to dangle next to his open trousers. He could feel Jim’s lips at the back of his neck, along with the bristle of his moustache as he slid his hands underneath Bruce’s trousers, just to tease at the waistband of his underwear before moving on. His fingertips trailed up Bruce’s abdomen, light enough to tickle, and then he swept his palms back around again to his hips and tug them back against his own.

An embarrassingly loud moan rolled off of Bruce’s tongue. He could _feel_ Jim’s dick through the layers, grinding against him in a slow, indulgent rock. His lips stayed parted, his breaths fogging up the glass, as Jim groaned with him, his fingers pressing against Bruce a little harder to pull him into it again.

“Shit,” Bruce gasped, closing his eyes as his forehead thunked lightly against the window. He was so hard that he ached, and just the pantomime of where this could lead left him weak in the knees. “Holy _shit,_ Jim…”

“Jesus, Bruce,” Jim hissed quietly. His hands flexed on his hips, squeezing almost too tight for a second before they relaxed again.

To his disappointment, Jim didn’t keep grinding. He gently nudged Bruce’s hips forwards again, fumbling with his trousers for a moment before sending them rattling to the ground. He traced over Bruce’s painfully obvious bulge, and Bruce whimpered, twitching forwards to chase Jim’s touch and finding nothing. God, Jim was evil when he was being a tease. Bruce was already thoroughly familiar with this fact.

He tucked a thumb under Bruce’s waistband, lingering there for a moment. “Can I take these off?” Jim asked, respectful as ever, even when he was reducing Bruce to a puddle.

_“Please.”_

His underwear was gone in an instant, pooling around Bruce’s ankles with his slacks. He pressed his forehead against the glass, swallowing another noise as Jim’s calloused palms touched bare skin now, tracing paths they’d wandered before simply to explore them all over again. His knees almost buckled when Jim touched his dick, and it didn’t even matter that it was a fleeting brush against the base; it was sensation, and it was amazing after nothing. 

Jim’s lips returned to his neck, and Bruce shivered. “Bruce,” he murmured.

“Mm?”

“I’ve got lube,” he said, and Bruce’s breath rushed out of him in a quiet whine. “And a condom. Do you want to-”

 _“Yes,”_ Bruce hissed, turning enough to glance at Jim over his shoulder. God, Jim looked amazing, though; his neatly combed hair was ruffled and falling into his eyes, and the sight of him with his sleeves rolled up had no right to be as hot as it was. He looked ready to take Bruce apart, and he was _succeeding._

Jim glanced up, meeting Bruce’s eyes, and then he looked away again with a soft curse. “Stay there.”

Bruce slumped against the window a little as Jim moved back towards his coat, mourning the loss of him against his back. He wasn’t gone long - just enough to dig into his coat pockets and retrieve what he needed - and then Jim was back, pressing his hips against Bruce’s ass. As his eyes slammed shut again, Bruce puffed out a breathy chuckle, and said, “So you tease me for just _joking_ about fucking in my office, but you have lube and condoms on you?”

The feeling of his laughter against his shoulder made Bruce smile, even now, when he was aching and desperate. “Alright, you got me there,” Jim said. “I figured I’d be prepared. I know who I’m dating.”

The bottle opened with a pop as Jim shuffled back a step. Bruce shivered. “Sure, because _I’m_ the one who’s been starting things outside of the bedroom. Remember the car?”

He jumped at the first cold touch of Jim’s fingers against his ass. “That’s enough out of you, smartass,” Jim huffed, gently pressing his index finger against him. “Good thing I came prepared, huh?”

Bruce’s knees turned to jelly as Jim eased the tip of his finger into him. It was hard not to just melt against the window, but he forced himself to stay upright, even as Jim carefully inched in up to his first knuckle. “Mm- yeah, good thing,” Bruce babbled, nails tapping against the glass as he tried to grip something and found simply nothing. “Very good thing.”

His eyelids fluttered at the brush of Jim’s mouth under his ear, leaving a trail of light kisses as he withdrew his finger only to sink it into Bruce again, working into an easy rhythm. As much as Bruce wanted him immediately, he was glad that Jim was taking it a little slow; while his dick wanted him to rush into it, what little was left of his brain reminded him that it was a good thing that Jim was thoroughly prepping him. It gave him ample time to appreciate the way Jim began to take him apart, leaving him wondering just how he was still standing when his thighs trembled as he felt Jim reach his palm on the next thrust. 

Despite the need for slow, pleas for more still from spilled out of him between his gulps for breath, and he dissolved into a weak moan when Jim paused, added more lube to his hand, and gently pressed a second finger in alongside the first. It was a little bit of a stretch - maybe Bruce had been hastier than he should have - but he didn’t care, not when Jim curved his fingers just right and _pressed._

“Jim,” Bruce gasped, scrabbling at the glass as his knees shook. It felt _so_ good after going untouched - dangerously good. “Jim, I’m gonna come if you keep that up, fuck, _fuck._ ”

He immediately let up, and Bruce bit back a desperate whine. It was the perfect kind of tease; he ached for more, but he didn’t want to come yet when there was a promise of something more than just fingering. Taking the chance to breathe, Bruce sucked in deep lungfuls of air, but Jim didn’t make it easy with the way he just _kept going._ He was relentless, angling just a little to help open Bruce up as he just tried to hang on.

Bruce lost track of time. He couldn’t even try to guess at how much had passed before Jim asked, “Think you can take a third?” His breath tickled at Bruce’s ear, and he lost all progress on catching his breath.

“Yeah,” he gasped, “yeah, I can.”

Jim withdrew again with a soft, _“Fuck.”_

When his hand came back, he teased the third finger in with the first two. Bruce couldn’t help the noise that bubbled out of him, nor the fact that he canted his hips back into Jim’s touch. If he was this far gone just from the prep, Bruce couldn’t imagine being able to stay on his feet when they progressed further. They would have to move sooner or later, but he wasn’t sure where, and he couldn’t quite articulate it anyway with the stretch of Jim’s fingers consuming him. He was reduced to simply panting, quiet sounds slipping in here and there as Jim worked him open, his toes curling in his shoes at every brush against that perfect spot.

It was only when Bruce felt his legs tremble again that he found his tongue. “Jim,” he breathed.

“Yeah?” Jim’s voice was reduced to a rasp, and _God,_ that was one of the hottest things Bruce had ever heard.

“Need to move,” Bruce said. “My legs-”

Jim snaked an arm around his waist, holding him close and taking the strain off of Bruce’s elbows. He groaned as he lowered his aching arms - he hadn’t even noticed that they hurt - and he sagged against Jim as he curved his fingers again in one last quick tease before sliding them back again. Clumsily, Bruce turned in Jim’s arms, seeking out a new place to rest, and landed upon the perfect choice: his desk.

Judging by the way Jim urged him towards it, he’d had the same idea.

Bruce was so, so glad he kept his desk mostly clear of personal effects.

He laid himself over a clear spot, arms flung out in front of him again, except now he could hold onto the opposite edge of the desk. He was careful to keep his lower abdomen away from it, but luckily, it didn’t take much doing; he had plenty of room to prop himself up for Jim and also keep himself comfortable. Bruce exhaled as he felt Jim move up behind him, a hand stroking over his hip as he swore under his breath.

This time, when Jim slid his fingers into Bruce again, he was free to rock backwards with a sigh. “Jesus, Bruce,” Jim murmured, his free hand shoving up his shirt to splay his hand over his back. “Are you good?”

“I’m amazing,” Bruce replied, settling in with his cheek on the desk.

Jim crooked his fingers, and his toes curled. “Are you ready, though?”

Heat pulsed lazily through Bruce’s veins. He bit his lip as he rolled backwards a little, testing, trying to feel it out. “Yeah,” he said, relaxing again. “Fuck, please, Jim.”

Jim stepped back again for a moment, pausing only to grab a tissue from the box on Bruce’s desk and wipe off his fingers. Bruce waited, impatient, as he heard the jingle of Jim’s belt, the rustle of his clothes, the crackle of the condom wrapper. A tingle ran down his spine as he heard a breathy groan and the soft sound of skin stroking across latex. 

And then there was a hand on Bruce’s hip, and Jim pressed carefully, slowly, into him. 

Bruce forced himself to stay relaxed, but his fingers gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He whimpered as Jim sunk in just past the head, and his other hand dropped to settle on his side, just to touch as he paused there. Impatient, Bruce rocked back against him, dropping his forehead against the desk lightly as Jim inched forwards just a little more.

“Yeah,” Bruce breathed, answering an unspoken question, “yeah, I’m good, please, just- _Jim-”_

He cut himself off as, in one smooth movement, Jim sunk in the rest of the way. Bruce moaned, stuttery and choked off, as Jim’s hips met his ass, and his breaths came heavier as he just tried to _exist._ It wasn’t the first time Jim had fucked him, not by a long shot, but he always forgot just how thick he felt from here, and how the first press seemed to tighten his throat with how _good_ it felt.

“God, Bruce.” Jim squeezed his hip, his touch a little tighter than he probably intended it. Bruce didn’t mind one bit. “Tell me when-”

“Now, please, _fuck.”_ Bruce shifted, grinding back into him as best he could. He didn’t want to wait anymore; he didn’t even care that he couldn’t touch himself. He just wanted Jim.

It was all the convincing Jim needed. The first thrust made Bruce’s breath trip in his throat again, and the one after had it spilling out of him in a moan. Jim kept it slow and steady at first, taking his time to linger and grind against Bruce every time, and Bruce saw stars when Jim finally snaked a hand under him to gently brush his thumb over the head of his dick.

 _“Jesus,_ Bruce.” Bruce shivered as Jim rubbed against him, sliding through the slick that had been steadily trailing down Bruce’s dick. The teasing had gone on long enough to leave him almost dripping. 

Bruce didn’t have the words to reply. He just jerked forwards into Jim’s touch, and then back onto his dick again, torn between the two perfect sensations. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as he whimpered, frazzled by how _much_ it was after Jim had kept him strung along for so long. The handcuffs rattled as he rocked, groaning again as Jim snapped his hips forwards against him. 

“Please,” Bruce managed, and Jim obliged, picking up the pace with a soft noise of his own. His hand stayed on Bruce’s dick now, though it was still light and more for Bruce to brush against whenever he was shifted forwards by Jim’s thrusts. It didn’t do much to get Bruce closer to coming, but it was plenty to keep him on the edge, trying to muffle his whines in the sleeve of his suit jacket. 

He felt the switch flip as Jim sped up, chasing his own pleasure. His fingers dug into his hip a little harder, and he felt Jim bow over him a little; he could hear his quiet groans over the slap of skin on skin, and Bruce’s extremities tingled with simple, plain _want._

“Fuck,” Jim hissed. His hand fisted around Bruce’s dick in a sudden shock, and Bruce writhed under him, gasping from the influx of sensation. Jim started to clumsily jerk him off in time with his thrusts, and Bruce felt himself spiralling quicker than he’d imagined he could, tumbling forwards until he came hard, unaware and uncaring of how much or how loudly he babbled Jim’s name. Bruce clawed at the desk since he couldn’t grab onto Jim instead, and he sagged against it as his body gave in, panting hard against the smooth surface of it.

Bruce whimpered when Jim kept going, loosely thumbing his dick as he fucked him. Oversensitivity shot along Bruce’s nerves, forcing him to take sharper breaths, but he indulged in it, enjoying the way it left him rolling with Jim’s movements. It was only a moment more before Jim’s pace stuttered, and then he pressed hard against Bruce, grinding against him as he came with a low groan. _“Bruce,”_ he breathed, twitching against him in smaller, more desperate thrusts. Bruce shivered, flexing his fingers against the edge of the desk, as Jim swore again, softer as he slowed.

He rested there for a moment to catch his breath, and then Jim straightened up and stepped back from Bruce. There was a moment where he stopped - Bruce assumed it was to remove the condom and, judging by the rustle of fabric, pull his trousers back up. Hands settled on his sides then, helping him up off the desk, and Bruce leaned against Jim with a breathy laugh. “My legs don’t want to support me,” he said.

Jim chuckled against his ear, warm and gentle now. “I’ve got you. Here, give me your wrists.” 

As hot as it had been, it was a relief to get the cuffs off. Bruce stretched his joints once they were gone, sighing in relief as feeling flowed back into them again. With his hands free, he took the opportunity to turn to face Jim properly and kiss him, just to have the contact after facing away throughout. Jim’s arms wound around him, settling around his waist to keep him on his feet. When his fingers drifted under his shirt, he broke apart with a soft huff of laughter. “You haven’t even put your pants back on.”

“Told you, my legs don’t want to support me.” Bruce could feel the weakness in them now, his thighs trembling a little with the effort of standing.

“Good thing you don’t walk around for a job, huh?” Jim teased. “Some of us have to go back to being a cop after this.”

Bruce grinned, a little smug. He held onto Jim as he ducked down, tugging his slacks and underwear back up to his hips. There was no way he could look composed now, not after being fucked over his own desk. He was going to have to sneak out and hope nobody saw him looking so disheveled. “Some of us are going to have to sit after that,” Bruce shot back, just as playfully.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Jim said, dry. Bruce sunk down into his desk chair as soon as he was clothed up to the waist again, and he tried to cover a wince as he sat. It didn’t escape Jim’s notice, though. “Well, mostly fine.”

“Thanks.” Bruce laughed, and when he reached for Jim’s hand to tangle his fingers, Jim bent down to kiss him again, slow and sweet. “Mm, when do you have to go back to work?”

Jim parted enough to glance at his watch. “About fifteen minutes ago.” 

Bruce groaned, chasing him for another kiss. “Do you have to, though?”

“Yes,” Jim chuckled, pressing him back into his seat. “I’ll make it up to you. Dinner later? My place?”

“Fine.” Bruce sighed, sinking back into his chair reluctantly. He watched as Jim swept a hand through his hair, trying desperately to put it back in place, and then scooped up his coat to shrug it back on again. Bruce didn’t even make any attempts yet to recover; he needed a good minute. Grinning, though, he said, “You drive a hard bargain, Commissioner, but I think I can make that work.”

Jim rolled his eyes fondly. “Again with the fucking commissioner thing.”

“Well, if it ends that well every time, I think I’ll do it more often, _Commissioner.”_

“I’m going,” Jim said, shaking his head with amusement. He leaned in to kiss Bruce one more time, lingering just enough for Bruce to twine his fingers around the holster strap across Jim’s chest. “Sorry to just fuck and run.”

“It’s fine.” Bruce reached down, tucking a stray part of Jim’s shirt back under his belt with a smile. “I’ll see you later. I love you.”

Jim beamed at him, and Bruce’s heart flipped in his chest. “I love you, too,” he said, squeezing Bruce’s arm, and then he headed for the door. Bruce unlocked it with a lazy press of a button as Jim crossed the room, and he was rewarded with a warm smile before Jim disappeared through it again.

Bruce sunk into his seat, letting out a long, relaxed exhale. No, he didn’t think he’d be getting much more work done today.

* * *

“This is fantastic work, Renee,” Jim said, skimming over the report Renee had handed him. As always, it was well put together, beautifully worded, and neatly typed into one succinct document. She had a knack for getting it just right every time. If Jim was honest, she was well on her way to becoming the chief of the GCPD someday, once the position opened up. The current chief was good, but Jim knew who he wanted by his side.

He and Renee had always had a friendly relationship, despite how frosty she could seem to strangers; it was just one of the many things Jim liked about her, and she had warmed up anyway once they’d gotten to know each other a little better. Jim made it a point to be on good terms with everyone in his police station, but they had clicked in a way that he often found it hard to do with the other cops. They were genuine friends. 

Jim would be the first to admit that he didn’t have many of those. It was hard to keep up when he had such a busy job.

“Thanks.” She beamed at him. “If you’re happy with it, I’ll go ahead and put it in the file so we can close the case.”

“Absolutely.” Jim slid the report back to her side of the desk. Something prodded at the corner of his mind, some thought that circled around the ‘friends’ topic, but he didn’t look too closely just yet. “Thanks for getting it done so quick.”

Renee scooped up the slip of paper. “Anytime. Would be easier if it wasn’t so cramped, but what’re you gonna do?”

“Wait,” Jim said simply. He scanned the room as that thought pressed harder at him. It was, to be fair, a little rowdy in the shared office; it usually was in the GCPD anyway, but it was easier to escape from the noise when he had his own office. “Construction shouldn’t be too long anyway.”

“Not with that Wayne Enterprises money,” Renee agreed. 

And that was it: Wayne. Bruce Wayne. 

Renee didn’t know. Jim had thought he didn’t have anyone to tell, but he did have Montoya. Bruce had invited him to tell his friends if he wanted - after all, Alfred, Tiffany, and Iman all knew - but Jim hadn’t taken him up on the offer. He just… hadn’t considered Renee. Maybe it was because their relationship had pretty much started on the day he’d revealed he was Batman, and it had been such a mental block since Jim hadn’t wanted to share that piece of information.

Now, though, after a few months together, their relationship had evened out into so much more than Batman. It wasn’t a key piece that kept drawing them back together like it had in the old days. They were just Bruce and Jim.

“Hey,” Jim said, “do you wanna come outside while I grab a smoke? I wanna tell you something.”

Renee gave him an odd look. “Sure. Just let me put this on my desk.”

She joined him out the back of their temporary headquarters a few minutes later. Jim had already lit up a cigarette and taken a few puffs. Damn, it had been a little while since he’d had one; he hadn’t been actively trying to quit, but he’d noticed himself reaching for them less and less lately.

“So,” she said, leaning against the wall next to him, “what did you wanna talk about?”

“We’re friends, right, Renee?” Jim asked. He and Renee had always been up front and honest. He appreciated that about her.

Renee chuckled quietly. “Yeah, Jim. We’ve worked together for a long time, I sure hope we’re friends by now.”

He nodded, smiling around the butt of his cigarette. “Just checking, ‘cause otherwise what I’m about to say would’ve been fucking awkward.” Jim exhaled his lungful of smoke, politely turning away from Renee to breathe it out into the city instead. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Well, congrats.” When he looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, there was genuine happiness on her face. “Do I know him?”

Jim barked a laugh. “Yeah, you know him.” He tapped on his cigarette, scattering the ash. Then, before he could chicken out, he said, “Bruce Wayne.”

He could feel Renee staring at him. “He’s a little… out of your league, don’t you think?” There was a hidden layer of teasing in her words that might have gone unnoticed to anyone else, but Jim shook his head with a grin.

“Oh, believe me, I know,” he chuckled. He dropped the cigarette and put it out with his heel. “All that talk about wanting better for Gotham isn’t an act, though. He’s a good guy.”

Jim could feel himself starting to smile as he talked about Bruce. He almost wanted to pinch himself; he needed to at least make a solid attempt at playing the part of gruff Commissioner Gordon. It was a little difficult when he was so smitten.

Renee shook her head. “How did you even meet him?”

“A mutual friend.” Jim’s moustache twitched as he bit back a snicker. He was pretty pleased with himself for that one. It wasn’t _entirely_ untrue. “Before you ask, it doesn’t have anything to do with his company helping us out. That was Wayne Enterprises, not the man himself.”

“I figured.” Renee shrugged it off without much more thought. “It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Someone’s gonna ask when it gets out eventually.” Jim really wasn’t looking forward to his colleagues finding out. They were crude at the best of times; he could only imagine the kind of blunt questions he’d get, especially given Bruce’s reputation only a few years ago. In hindsight, Jim realised that the decline of that probably lined up with when he’d been more active as Batman. 

Huh. He was still figuring out new things every day.

Renee’s elbow bumped his, drawing his attention back to Earth. “So,” she said, sly, “how long’s it been?”

“Alright, I’m not here to tell you everything.” Jim dug into his pocket for his keycard to get back into the building, his face burning. “I told you so you’d hear it from me instead of reporters, I’m not about to tell you the whole damn tale.”

“Noted, I’ll buy you a round when we go for a beer next.” Renee breezed past him, tapping her own card against the reader while Jim still searched for his. He gave up and stepped past her, ignoring the grin on her face. “You can’t just tell me who he is and expect me to not have any questions.”

Jim wondered if he’d made a mistake. Not genuinely - he trusted Renee to keep it secret - but still. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

“You can ask,” he said, “but you’re not getting any answers.”

“I’m persistent.” Renee grinned. “It’s my job.”

* * *

Jim went home to an empty house that night. He’d given Bruce a copy of the key, but work had kept them both late enough that he’d just called Bruce to say goodnight on his way home. Even then, Bruce had sounded exhausted; he’d admitted to already being in bed, and he had sounded like his face was half buried into the pillow. Jim had pictured it as clear as day, and the mental image had made him smile. He’d let Bruce go not long after, and hadn’t received another text from him. Odds were, Bruce was asleep.

It was fair. Jim wished he’d been in bed long ago, but he still needed to eat.

It was odd being on his own, though. He’d grown used to having Bruce around, as well as Alfred and Tiffany, who came as a package deal with his partner. Even though Bruce’s place was far bigger, it felt much more lively than Jim’s little house, solely because of the people within it.

Here, sitting alone on his couch as he ate a quick dinner, Jim noticed the difference.

He’d never been much of an extrovert. Jim wasn’t quite an introvert either - he was a good talker and he loved company - but he didn’t exactly have a big rotation of people that he talked to regularly. That was more than fine with him - preferred, in fact - but it was oddly lonely with just the TV as background noise when he was used to at least one other voice now.

His keys sat on the coffee table in a heap. There, glinting back at him, was the one Bruce had given him.

Jim had taken him up on the offer many times, of course. He’d slipped into bed with an already sleeping Bruce on a fair few occasions by now, and he’d always been met with sleepy, but open, arms. Usually, though, that was all before midnight. The idea of doing the same thing in the early hours of the morning instead hadn’t sat right with Jim; he didn’t want to disturb Bruce’s sleep, so he’d decided to leave him be. 

Still, one lonely shower later, Jim couldn’t help missing his presence. He felt it as he settled into bed and switched off the lights, leaving Bruce’s usual side of the mattress empty.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to actually live with Bruce. 

There would be teasing from the GCPD, of course, but Jim was used to that. He was already a target just by being their boss, even though he liked to think he was one of the better and kinder ones the force had had. How much worse could it be when their relationship inevitably became public? It would have to be if he moved in with Bruce. They would need to know where to find him. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out over Jim’s idle thinking. He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Bruce, the little team around him, and the giant manor that didn’t seem so big when they were all together.


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Tiffany grabbed Bruce to show him her progress, it was to display her completed suit.

It wasn’t unlike the Batsuit. She had brought her designs to life in a way that only Tiffany Fox could: efficient and beautiful. Armoured plates made up much of the suit, with lines of purple to frame each segment along with the bat symbol on her shoulder. The drone fit neatly against her back, just like it had in its first iteration, like it belonged there. Finally, there was a domino mask across her eyes - purple, of course - to seal the deal. The eyes were white, just like Batman’s had been.

“What do you think?” she asked, planting a hand on her hip with a grin. “There’s still some things I wanna change, and I wanna install a voice modulator somewhere, but this is pretty much the finished thing.”

Bruce took a seat in a spare wheelie chair. “You’ve done a fantastic job,” he admitted, stunned. Tiffany had come a long way from her first makeshift suit. “Have you taken it out yet?”

“Nothing’s come up since I finished it.” Tiffany reached up to remove her mask. She set it down on the table, and then hopped up to sit next to it. “Next time, though, I wanna give it a try. I’ve got actual _locks_ for my drone now.” She gestured up to her shoulders, where there was a slightly sturdier section of her suit. Beaming, she added, “Should keep it secure when I’m using it as a jetpack.”

God, Bruce had almost forgotten about the jetpack part. 

“The GCPD know to expect you, though, right?” Bruce asked. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve helped them a few times now, just when they need help with evidence on the scene.” Tiffany swung her legs back and forth a little, almost playfully. She seemed awfully pleased with herself, Bruce thought. “You know, when they want info now. They don’t always wanna wait for the lab to get back to them. Jim should work on that.”

“I don’t think he can do much about the speed of science,” Bruce said wryly. He considered Tiffany for a moment more, and then decided to just take the plunge. “You know, you could always use the Batcave as your headquarters instead for the field stuff, too.”

Her feet paused. “You’re serious?”

“I am.” Bruce leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees. “I can do for you what Alfred did for me. If you think you need support from home, I can offer that, or I can analyse data you send back. It might be nice to have someone as backup, even though you’re not doing anything too dangerous.”

“My drone _does_ have remote control,” Tiffany hummed thoughtfully. An amused smile started to spread across her face. “You miss it, don’t you? You wanna get back out there.”

“God, no. I’m too old for that.”

Tiffany arched an eyebrow. “You’re too old, but Jim’s not?”

“Jim hasn’t suffered several major injuries like I have.” Bruce pointed at his side. He was on the mend now, enough that he no longer needed daily attention, but he still had to be careful. Too much and he’d be right back to square one. “I’m just saying, it’s a good idea to have a point of contact. You can use the Batcave either way, just let me know. But I can still help on big jobs, if you want.”

“I’ll consider it.” Grinning again, Tiffany hopped down from the table. “I’ll definitely take you up on the Batcave, though. That sounds cool as fuck. It’s been months since I last saw it.”

Bruce had figured her answer would be a definite yes. “You already have access,” he said smoothly, pushing himself back up to his feet. “I took the liberty of arranging it last night. I’ll get you a key to the manor, and then you’re set.”

Before he realised, Tiffany rushed at him to give him a quick, tight hug. His breath rushed out of him in a laugh, and he settled his arms around Tiffany to give her a squeeze in return. “Thanks, Bruce,” Tiffany said as she disengaged. “I won’t let you down.”

He’d never doubted that. Still, Bruce was reassured to see that she was taking it seriously, and as Tiffany reached for her drone to tinker with it again, he knew that Gotham was in very safe hands.

* * *

“That’s healed quite nicely, I think, Bruce.”

Once again, Bruce found himself shirtless and perched on the edge of a table while Alfred peered at his wounds. The months that had passed had done plenty to clean things up, and while things still occasionally twinged if Bruce twisted or stretched too far, for the most part, he was able to forget about it now. It had been a little while since Alfred had last inspected it, and longer still since gauze and bandages had been necessary. This was more of a check-up.

“That’s a relief.” Bruce sighed, following Alfred’s gaze down to his side. Still not exactly pleasant - it definitely wouldn’t be smooth again, that was for sure - but at least it wasn’t worrying anymore. 

“How’s the pain?”

“Not nearly as noticeable.”

“Fantastic.”

Alfred removed his latex gloves, folding them into themselves to dispose of them neatly. “Well, I daresay you’re well on the road to recovery now. I can still check in occasionally for you, but I don’t think we’ll have anything else to worry about now.”

As Alfred tossed away the gloves, Bruce tugged his shirt back on again. Once it was buttoned up, he slid back down to his feet. “Hey, so, about what we talked about before…”

“Ah. My duties as your butler.”

Bruce leaned back against the table, watching Alfred carefully. “It’s entirely up to you. I won’t force your hand either way, but I would love it if you continued to live here regardless, as my family and friend.”

“You’re sweet, Bruce.” Alfred came back over to his side, smiling. Bruce was pretty sure he could already see Alfred’s answer written across his face, and something in his chest relaxed. He hadn’t even realised that there had been a weight there until it was gone. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer. There are things I would still like to do for us though, namely the cooking. I do enjoy it.”

“I know you do.” Bruce beamed at him. It was… freeing somehow. He wasn’t sure why. “You’re more than welcome to if that’s what you _want_ to do.”

“I do.” Alfred reached up to loosen his tie, just a little. “Expect rather a lot more baking from now on. Though, hopefully, there’ll be more of us here to eat it…?”

He trailed off, clearly expectant. “Well, Jim visits a lot,” Bruce said, a little flustered. He knew where Alfred was going, he could tell. “And Tiffany loves pastries. I can always take some into work with me-”

“I was hoping you’d asked Jim to stay a little more permanently,” Alfred interrupted gently. “I’ve noticed that the two of you combined have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

Alfred wasn’t wrong there. Bruce had thought he was bad about going for seconds over Alfred’s desserts, but Jim was insatiable. More than once, he’d turned his back for a moment only to find Jim brushing crumbs off of his shirt. 

“I haven’t yet,” Bruce admitted. “He has a key, but… I don’t know, I’m not sure if he’d accept.” 

“Bruce.” Alfred faced him, eyebrows raised and a smile on his lips. “Now that I’m no longer your butler, I’d like to be blunt. I think the manor would be a much livelier place with Jim in it. This building is far too big for just two people, and I know you’d like him to be here more, too.”

He looked away, ignoring the way his cheeks burned. “Jim has his own place,” Bruce said quietly, “and it’s obviously pretty different to the manor. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be part of all of this because of our relationship.” He gestured around them at the manor. Even this one parlour was grand enough, despite being one of the smaller and cosier rooms. “If he prefers to go between, that’s fine with me.”

Alfred’s smile lingered, gentle and knowing. “Bruce, he already spends most nights here. I think if he had a problem with staying on a more permanent basis, he would have voiced it by now.” He patted Bruce’s arm fondly and took a step towards the door. “I think it’s worth mentioning when the opportunity comes up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make the most of being retired.”

Bruce watched him fondly as he left, and then sunk back against the table with a sigh. Alfred was right, Bruce did want Jim to live here, but he just didn’t know if it was the right time. They hadn’t even been together all that long, really, just a few months. It felt like much, much longer, though, given their history together.

He decided that he would _think_ about Alfred’s advice.

He would think about it, and he would wonder what Jim thought about the matter.

* * *

The temporary headquarters for the GCPD were a little cramped, but they got the job done. The office across the road had managed to spare a floor - one that mostly amounted to one room - and Jim had crammed his cops into the space, just about managing to find a desk for everyone. There were no private offices, though, so Jim had set himself up by the door so he was easy to track down. It meant he got a lot of foot traffic right by his space, but he was good at tuning it out when he needed to.

He’d managed to salvage a TV from what was still standing of the GCPD, and now it stood on a pile of boxes. They usually kept it tuned into Gotham’s news station, and it was close enough that Jim could idly glance up throughout his shifts. He’d hoped it would be good for morale.

He’d forgotten all about Bruce’s press conference until he appeared on TV, waving and nodding at the polite applause from the crowd gathered in front of Wayne Tower. Jim smiled privately and ducked his head back down, busying himself with paperwork. He heard enough to know it was about the developments on Arkham Asylum, and then simply enjoyed the sound of Bruce’s voice in the background without really paying attention. 

Jim glanced up again when he heard clapping, and watched for a moment as Bruce moved onto the professional part of the questions and answers. He knew that Bruce would likely step away and take some personal ones after; he preferred offering that solution rather than letting reporters go wild over off topic things when he was usually promoting a good cause. Bruce would probably rather not take any at all after the main event, but it was a decent compromise, Jim supposed.

By the time he was done with his paperwork, Bruce was moving onto that segment. Jim settled back into his chair with his coffee, and finally let himself eye up the doughnut that had been sitting in its box since he’d first sat down. He figured he was due a break. He could use it as an excuse to watch.

Bruce stepped down from the platform, moving instead to a plainer section of wall outside the entrance. It was deliberate, Jim knew; Bruce was making the separation between Wayne Enterprises and himself there, so now that anything he said wasn’t affiliated with his business. Smart. 

_“Thank you for coming,”_ Bruce said, laughing warmly as several microphones appeared around him in a semicircle. _“Okay, if you have any other questions unrelated to what we already discussed, I’ve got a little extra time for you.”_

There was a chuckle from around the reporters, and Bruce offered them a winning smile. Jim snorted, and he took a slow sip of his coffee as it began. 

_“Mr. Wayne, on your time in Arkham Asylum - is it true that you met John Doe, the Joker, there? Is that where you became friends?”_

Bruce shifted a little on his feet, his smile slipping for just a moment. It came back seconds later, just as brilliant as before. _“Yes, Arkham is where I met John. He looked out for me during my stay, and unfortunately I was too busy when I left to keep up. John was the one to reach out once he was first released. I hope that he’s receiving the help he needs in Arkham - Harvey, too - and that the developments will aid with that.”_

_“What about Harley Quinn? She worked at Arkham; did you know her beforehand?”_

_“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t aware of her until the Pact.”_

_“Mr. Wayne, what was life like inside the Pact? Was there anything you took part in that you regretted, and would you change your part if you could?”_

Jim nibbled at the edge of his doughnut, frowning. He didn’t like this line of questioning. It was coming far too close to the limits the GCPD had already set in its official statement on the matter, and he could see that Bruce was becoming uncomfortable. He watched as Bruce adjusted his suit jacket and straightened his shoulders, clear signs of trying to gather himself that Jim recognised by now.

 _“I did what I could to minimise casualties,”_ Bruce said carefully. _“I wish I hadn’t been involved in the first place, but as you know, my hands were tied. While I was inside, I decided to do what I could to help the people of Gotham when they came into the line of fire. You’ll have to refer to the GCPD statement for further details, I can’t say anything else on the topic.”_

_“While we’re on the subject, Mr. Wayne, we’d like to clarify some rumours.”_

_“By all means, go ahead.”_ Bruce smiled, seemingly back on his feet. _“I’ll see what I can do.”_

_“A few weeks ago, the Gotham Gazette reported that you didn’t seem available. Is it true that you’re currently in a relationship?”_

Bruce’s cheeks turned a little pink. Jim’s hand froze halfway to his mouth, still holding his doughnut. He could feel the frosting starting to melt on his fingers. 

_“I am, yes,”_ Bruce said eventually.

_“A long term one?”_

_“Hopefully,”_ he laughed. _“You’d have to ask him that.”_

The reporters shared a quiet murmur of laughter with Bruce. Slowly, Jim switched his doughnut for coffee instead. He didn’t fancy choking on it; it was a good doughnut, one from the nice place across the street, and he didn’t want to waste it.

_“‘Him’, Mr. Wayne?”_

_“Yes, ‘him’.”_ Bruce smiled charmingly. 

_“Would that ‘him’ be Commissioner Gordon?”_

Jim coughed loudly as he almost inhaled his coffee. He pounded on his chest, hoping it would ease the ache, but it was nothing compared to the attention he could feel coming his way. Damn it, if he’d stayed quiet nobody would have noticed the the interview; now other cops were glancing away from him once they saw he was okay, and drifting instead to the TV where Bruce was blushing furiously even with a straight face, which was enough of an answer for the reporters.

And then, slowly, choosing his words, Bruce made his answer in front of the entirety of the city and, unfortunately for Jim, the GCPD. _“I think Gotham is lucky to have Commissioner Gordon, and so am I.”_

Jim closed his eyes. It was sweet, but he had to leave. Immediately. 

He tried to stand up, only for a hand to clap him on the shoulder. “Hold on, Commissioner,” Detective Bullock said, gently pressing him back into his seat with a grin. “Bruce Wayne, huh?”

“Ah, shit,” Jim sighed. He sunk down into his chair, then reached for his doughnut at last. He was going to have it, damn it, even if it was just an excuse to not talk. He shoved a bite into his mouth, determined to take his time. The only one here who already knew was Renee, and she was across the room, watching him and stifling her laughter.

On screen, Bruce thanked the reporters and disappeared back into Wayne Tower. Jim felt his phone vibrate in his pocket moments later, and he knew it was Bruce trying to do damage control.

“How long has that been going on for, Jim?” Alvarez called from his desk. 

Jim chewed silently. 

MacDonald stood up, hands planted on her desk as she leaned towards him from across the office. “You been in that fancy house yet?”

Jim checked his phone. 

_Reporters asked, I’m sorry. I saw some taking off for the GCPD. I’ll be out back with a car._

_I saw. I’m gonna be a minute, I’m being held hostage by my own fucking force._

“Hey! He as good in bed as the papers say?” Cohen asked, sending snickers through the other cops. 

Jim didn’t speak, but he felt his cheeks burn. The cops crowed, cackling to themselves. “You’re a bunch of crude bastards,” Jim muttered, ducking his head to sip his coffee - carefully this time. “You know, this is why I didn’t fucking say anything.” 

The GCPD passed around smug, triumphant smiles as he finally cracked. They had what they wanted: confirmation. They all knew that Bruce wouldn’t have lied like that on air, but their goal had been to hear it from Jim anyway, just to put a little fun pressure on their commissioner. Jim, on the other hand, thought they were having entirely too much fun with it.

Bullock clapped him on the shoulder again, more teasing and congratulatory this time, and Jim stood up the second his hand was gone. “I’m going home early,” he said, grabbing his wallet from his desk. 

“Have fun at Wayne’s,” Bullock said, snickering behind him. Jim felt his blush burn all the way up to the tips of his ears. He didn’t like that Bullock was right about where he was going. He could only hope that Bruce wasn’t bringing his fancy red car. 

He made his way towards the back exit, shoulders hunched as other officers gave him pats and grins on his way out. “Commissioner, your car’s the other way,” Renee called from her spot against the wall.

Jim held up a middle finger. “It can stay there until tomorrow.” Her laughter rang in his ears as he left through the back door; he wasn’t genuinely angry with Renee, of course, just embarrassed, and he was sure that she knew that.

When he ducked out into the alleyway behind the office building, there was a modest black car waiting for him. He peered around the corner, and he saw Bruce in the driver’s seat. Bruce smiled sheepishly and gave him a little wave. 

As annoyed as Jim was about the GCPD and the reporters who would likely hound him for days, he wasn’t annoyed with Bruce. They’d talked about it, after all, and Jim had given his permission for Bruce to be honest. Soon enough, this would fade from the public eye and they’d just be another couple that occasionally popped onto Gotham’s news radar. It was just going to be an interesting week or two. 

When Jim slipped into the passenger seat, he realised he’d forgotten his coffee. He still had his doughnut, though.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said again. “I didn’t think they’d ask yet. As far as I knew, the rumours were still pretty unsubstantiated. I know it wasn’t Iman, I asked her on my way out.”

“Bruce, it’s alright.” Jim tugged him in for a quick kiss. It didn’t matter anymore that anyone could see. If a reporter saw it, fuck it. Let them. “I told you it was fine, and it is. Didn’t expect it to happen while I was at work, though.”

“I hope they didn’t give you a hard time.” Bruce carefully pulled out into the street, rejoining traffic to head back to the manor. It’d be a better place to hide for now. He had solid fences, and Jim’s place didn’t. 

“Well,” Jim said, considering his doughnut as Bruce stopped at a red light, “they know you’re great in the sack now.”

Bruce stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“They asked.” Jim shrugged. “I didn’t answer, but I think they took that as a yes. What was I gonna do, deny it and tell ‘em you’re terrible? They’d think I was with you for the money.”

“I…” Bruce shook his head as if he was clearing it, and then pulled back into traffic again. “Thanks for the back-up, I think? I’ll never be able to face the GCPD again, though.”

“Try fucking working there.” Jim sighed, slouching back into the seat and biting into his doughnut. “I’m so screwed, Bruce. Half of them didn’t even pay enough attention to know I like men, but it’s not like I keep it a secret anyway. They’re just shockingly unobservant for cops.”

“You know, you really inspire confidence in our city’s police force,” Bruce said dryly. He paused outside the gates to Wayne Manor long enough for them to open, and then continued forwards up the driveway. “I hope it’s not to presumptuous to bring you home, by the way. I was sort of driving on autopilot.”

Jim waved a hand. “It’s fine. I’m probably better off here tonight anyway. I won’t get reporters knocking down the door, at least.”

Bruce parked, and then reached over to lay a hand on Jim’s knee. “I _am_ sorry you had to get wrapped up in the press, though,” he said, looking sheepish. “I didn’t realise they would take it as a literal invitation to ask you about us.”

“For the love of God, Bruce,” Jim chuckled, taking his hand, “I’ve been working at the GCPD for a long, long time. I’ve had my fair share of pushy reporters. This is a little different to what I’m used to, but I promise I’ll be fine.” Bruce’s concern was sweet - and the little crease between his eyebrows was particularly adorable, not that Jim would admit the way it made his heart melt just a bit - but he was a grown man and he could handle a few rowdy reporters. He was just a little flustered.

Bruce let out a long, slow breath. “Feel free to tell them to leave you alone,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on telling them anything detailed about us anyway.” 

“I will, as long as you stop looking like a kicked puppy.” Jim squeezed his fingers. “Come on, let’s head inside. You want some of this donut?”

It was enough to startle a laugh out of Bruce, and he leaned in to accept a bite when Jim held up his donut. A little bit of frosting clung to the corner of his lips when he pulled back, and Jim had to restrain himself from kissing it away. He wasn’t sure when he’d become so sappy, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it, not when he got to be the one to make Bruce smile.

* * *

“Congratulations on being ‘off the market’, as they say, Bruce,” Alfred said, dry and sarcastic as he took the seat opposite him. “I had absolutely _no_ idea. Good morning, Jim.”

“Morning, Alfred,” Jim said, nodding at him across the table as he buttered his toast. 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, flicking closed his own copy of the _Gotham Gazette_. “I’m surprised it didn’t make the evening edition. We got front page this morning, though.” He tilted it to show Jim, who snorted around his mouthful.

Alfred chuckled as Bruce set it down on the table. “Mm. But I suppose that they were so wrapped up in that wedding scandal yesterday afternoon that they decided to save it for the morning crowd.”

Bruce reached for his coffee, blowing gently across the surface before taking a sip. “I’ll take being on the front page for that over a late night scuffle. It’s less painful, at least.”

“Quite right,” Alfred sniffed. “Although, if you’d been at that particular wedding, it sounds like you might have come out with a scrape or two regardless.”

“It’s the atmosphere,” Jim said. “People are drinking and partying, they get rowdy. Doesn’t matter who it is, I’ve seen it enough times. You’d be surprised at how often it’s the bride who throws the punches.”

“Well,” Alfred said, gathering up the newspaper to take another skim with his breakfast, “I like to think that the next wedding I attend won’t have such behaviour.” He looked at Bruce over the page, eyebrows raised.

The pointed comment was enough to make Bruce slurp too quickly at his coffee, and he made a pained noise around his mouthful. He grimaced as he swallowed, trying to assess the damage without moving his burned tongue too much. Instead, he just ended up reaching for the water jug, pouring a glass to desperately soothe it. Jim reached over to pat his back lightly.

“I can’t imagine you going to any weddings like that,” Jim laughed.

Alfred’s eyes twinkled over the newspaper. “You’d be surprised, Jim.”

“You telling me you had some wild times in your younger days?”

“I’ll speak no more on the matter, Commissioner.”

Bruce sighed, setting down his mostly empty glass. At least the conversation had moved on; it was far too early to think about weddings. What was Alfred playing at? “I’ve heard some stories,” he croaked, rubbing at his chest gently. “I’ll tell you later.”

Alfred shot him a look that simply said, _Touché._

* * *

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how things escalated this quickly. 

One moment he and Jim had been tucked in together on the couch, idly watching TV and talking quietly about meaningless little things after a lazy day around Jim’s place - attention had died down enough that it was safe to go back there, thankfully - and the next they were kissing, slow and indulgent. Jim tasted buttery, just like the now empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table. Underneath that, there were traces of the cigarette he had had when he’d taken a step outside after dinner, and then beneath _that,_ there was something that was just uniquely Jim. 

His hand cupped Jim’s face, thumb brushing back and forth idly as they kissed. Jim’s breaths puffed gently over Bruce’s cheek, tickling him a little with how fluttery it felt, and his side was warm with Jim pressed in close next to him. 

Bruce inhaled sharply at the first hint of teeth. It was a fleeting touch - Jim just caught his lower lip briefly, gently - but Bruce felt a familiar prickle of interest as Jim kissed away the sting. 

“C’mere,” Jim murmured, hand landing on Bruce’s hip and tugging. He slid smoothly onto Jim’s lap, his knees settling comfortably on either side of his hips, and then, wordlessly, Bruce bowed down to kiss Jim again.

God, Bruce wished he could bottle up this moment to keep, even though he knew without a doubt that there would be many more versions of it. There was nothing quite like curling up with Jim in a t-shirt and sweats and making out on the sofa after a relaxed day together. It lended a softness to their actions that they could never quite match after spending the day at work, separate and stressed until they came together again. Now, Bruce just melted against Jim, sinking into the hands on his sides with a pleased sigh.

He was so wrapped up in the lazy pleasure of it that he didn’t even realise that he was half hard until Jim gently rocked up against him. Bruce made a soft noise against his lips, surprised.

Jim broke the kiss with one last peck. “Only if you want to,” he said. There was a flush on his cheeks, spreading across the bridge of his nose. He reached up, idly adjusting his glasses to put them back in position after they’d been knocked a little askew. 

Bruce squeezed his shoulders. When had his hands ended up there? “When have I ever given the impression that I _don’t_ want to?” he asked, amused.

“Fair point.” Jim chuckled, and Bruce dipped down to swallow up the sound in another kiss. He didn’t want to keep his hands or his mouth off of Jim for longer than was strictly necessary. 

It seemed that the sentiment went both ways; a hand slipped down between them to press against Bruce through his sweats, and he hummed a pleased little noise as Jim loosely curled his fingers around him. Cotton stopped him from going too far, but the pressure was still nice, and Bruce shifted forwards against his palm lazily. That, combined with their slow, heady kissing, was enough to make Bruce’s head spin.

Before he could even begin to feel impatient, Jim beat him to it. He tugged on Bruce’s sweats, pulling the waistband down to free his cock. He let it snap back into place underneath, and Bruce sighed as Jim returned, skin on skin now. 

“Mm,” he hummed, trailing a few kisses along Jim’s stubbly jaw. A shiver ran through him, and he gave a little wiggle in Jim’s lap, chasing more.

He felt more than heard Jim’s answering chuckle; he smiled against Bruce’s cheek, and his chest jumped in the familiar rhythm of his laughter. It brought a smile to Bruce’s face, even as he buried his face in the crook of Jim’s neck with a quiet moan. Jim was taking his sweet time with stroking Bruce, keeping it slow and steady as he moved from base to tip and back again. 

At first, it was a little dry - not painfully so, but he could feel the drag of Jim’s palm against his skin. Soon enough, though, as Jim kept going, things smoothed out, and Bruce realised it was because he was leaking an embarrassing amount over Jim’s fist. It had the benefit of easing the way, but Bruce hadn’t realised that he was _that_ worked up from just a little making out and touching. 

“Jesus,” Jim breathed, thumbing across the head of Bruce’s dick to make him whine against his jaw. 

“Please don’t stop.” Bruce dug his fingers into Jim’s shoulders, holding onto him as he helplessly jerked up into his hand. “Fuck, Jim, _please.”_

Jim groaned against his ear, and Bruce shuddered. The sound went straight to his dick, and he shivered as he felt another drop roll down the side of his dick. It was quickly caught up by Jim’s next stroke, and Bruce’s toes curled at the smooth slide of his hand. He felt like a bowstring, all drawn out and full of tension, and he quivered like it too as Jim touched him in all the ways he knew Bruce liked. 

He was shockingly close already, and Jim seemed like he was pulling out all of his favourite tricks: twisting his wrist just right, pressing his thumb under the head of Bruce’s dick, squeezing on the downstroke. Jim’s free hand wandered, tucking under Bruce’s shirt to explore his back, only to sweep back down to his side a moment later. His fingers curved in a familiar way as they settled into place across Bruce’s hipbone.

Jim squeezed Bruce’s hip, and his legs turned to jelly. It was a good thing he was already sitting, or he was pretty sure he would’ve buckled.

“Oh, God,” Bruce breathed, wriggling just a little under the touch. Coupled with the way Jim sped up his strokes, Bruce quickly felt himself tipping over the edge. “Jim, _fuck-”_

His hips shifted again, twitching up into Jim’s fist, while his face stayed buried in Jim’s neck. A desperate groan tore through him as he came, rattling in his chest and his throat. He shivered in Jim’s lap, riding out the aftershocks as Jim just kept _touching,_ drawing out the last little dregs of pleasure. It wasn’t until Bruce clumsily pushed his hand away that he let up, and then Bruce was more occupied with finding Jim’s mouth to kiss him.

“Mm, Bruce,” Jim mumbled against his lips. One hand stayed on his hip, tugging him closer, while the other stayed limp at Jim’s side. “Hold on, I gotta clean-”

“Here.” Reluctantly, Bruce peeled himself away from Jim, just far enough that he could strip his shirt off. He wrapped it around Jim’s hand, wiping off the come before Jim could protest. It wasn’t exactly pristine Bruce Wayne, but he didn’t particularly care about that in the comfort of Jim’s home. “It’s fine, I brought another with me.”

Jim laughed, too amused to stop him. “Planning ahead?”

“Not particularly.” Bruce grinned at him playfully. “But I could also just borrow one of yours.”

He slid off of Jim’s lap, pausing only to readjust his sweats so they comfortably rested across his hips again. Once he was clothed up to the waist, Bruce dropped to his knees between Jim’s already parted legs, shouldering his way gently into the gap. Jim sucked in a sharp breath, and Bruce bit back a smirk as his palms skimmed up Jim’s thighs, not quite touching the bulge in his sweatpants just yet; Jim had been hard the whole time he’d jacked Bruce off, but he’d waited to touch him so he could blow Jim in return. It was, admittedly, one of his favourite things to do with Jim.

“Can I?” he asked, plucking at the strings of Jim’s sweats.

“Jesus, yeah.” Jim raised his hips so Bruce could tug the sweats down a little and pull his dick out. Bruce gladly curled his fingers around it, humming a pleased little noise as he stroked. 

He glanced up at Jim, smiling. “Relax,” he said, giving his thigh a squeeze with his free hand. Jim settled back against the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh, and Bruce rewarded him with a quick kiss to the head of his dick. A hand came to rest against his cheek, and Bruce tilted into it briefly, enjoying the gentle brush.

He was, however, also a man on a very important mission. Closing his eyes, Bruce relied on touch alone, holding Jim steady with a hand at his base as he trailed kisses up the length of his cock. When he reached the tip, he parted his lips around the head, dipping down to allow just that much onto his tongue. There was a quiet hiss from above, and Jim’s hand shifted, darting instead to stroke restlessly through Bruce’s hair. It was already a mess - there had been no point gelling it when he was just at home with Jim - and now it spilled across his forehead, only to be caught up again by Jim’s fingers as Bruce sunk down just a little lower.

“Shit,” Jim breathed. His grip tangled in Bruce’s hair briefly, and then it relaxed again, smoothing it back down once more. It shifted to cup the back of his head, simply resting there as Bruce gently moved further down, closer to his fist.

He couldn’t quite make it to his own fingers, he knew that. Instead, Bruce pulled up to the head only to sink back down once more, stroking his hand up the part that he couldn’t reach. There was a soft thump, and he cracked open his eyes to see that Jim had let his head drop back against the couch. A shiver of heat rolled through Bruce; Jim made an _incredibly_ hot picture like that, sprawled out with flushed cheeks while Bruce blew him. 

Bruce pulled off briefly to swallow, stroking Jim instead now that he was slick with spit and precome, and Jim groaned in that gravelly way that always made Bruce desperate to get back to it. “God, Bruce,” Jim rumbled, rubbing his thumb against his scalp. Jim’s throat bobbed, and then he choked out a moan as Bruce’s lips pressed against him again.

Humming, Bruce sunk down on him once more, sliding right back to where he had been. A hand landed on his shoulder, skimming across skin and muscle until it came to rest, and Bruce made a quiet, pleased noise at the touch. Evidently, Jim enjoyed the sound too, if his answering groan was anything to go by.

He shifted, settling his elbows more comfortably on Jim’s thighs as he dipped just a little lower to tease, just beyond where was comfortable. Bruce firmly ignored his gag reflex as he rose up again - that was a firm reminder to not push himself - but delighted in the way Jim’s hips rocked up to chase the sensation. He rolled with the movement, hoping to encourage another out of Jim, and he couldn’t help his own soft moan when it did. 

Jim answered with one of his own, Bruce’s name rolling off of his tongue in the midst of it. He twitched in his hand and he shifted up into Bruce’s mouth a little more urgently, a little more desperately. Bruce doubled his efforts, doing his best not to just _whine_ around Jim.

“Bruce,” Jim breathed, fingers tightening on his shoulder, _“shit,_ I’m close.”

Heat swept through Bruce, shuddering from head to toe in a wave. It left him tingling with want as he hummed around Jim’s dick, hoping to tease him over the edge. He jerked him off quicker, twisting as he bobbed down, and then he felt Jim’s thighs tense under his forearms as groaned his name.

Bruce stayed down as Jim came, swallowing around him as he kept up his stroking. He slowed as Jim relaxed underneath him again, and he eventually raised his head with a few last gentle licks. 

He found Jim already looking down at him, both amused and fond. “You’ve got no business being that good at that, you know.”

Bruce pushed himself up on shaky legs just enough to collapse onto the couch next to Jim. He pulled himself into Jim’s side, grinning as Jim met him halfway for a lazy kiss. “Had to return the favour after what you did,” he said as they parted. “Besides, I like blowing you.”

 _“Shit,_ that’s too hot.” 

Jim tugged him in again, and Bruce went gladly, sinking into him. Briefly, Bruce wished he could get hard again already, but even now he could feel weariness weighing down on him, urging him to just take a nap right there next to Jim. Their kissing was the only thing keeping him from being too tempted, and when they separated again, it sounded like an even better idea. 

“I’m gonna shower,” Jim murmured, pecking Bruce’s lips once more. “Wanna join me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bruce reluctantly sat up, rolling his shoulders to work out any aches. “Maybe it’ll wake me up. I feel like sleeping after that.”

“Eh, we can take an early night.” Jim shrugged it off with a quiet chuckle, and as Bruce gave him one more quick kiss before getting up, the warmth of arousal traded places with something else. It was gentler, sweeter, and felt like home.


	9. Chapter 9

Interviews were, unfortunately, a necessary evil. Bruce was also, much to his displeasure, very good at them. 

He could be charming and polite, he could make the interviewer laugh, and in the end, it meant that he stayed on the good side of the press. Most of the time, the interviews just came in the form of official statements outside Wayne Enterprises, but the board had thought it would be a good idea to promote a new, more civilian friendly piece of Wayne Tech on air.

It was how Bruce found himself sitting in a TV studio with the lights glaring on him, while he plastered on a smile for the camera. 

“So, Mr. Wayne.” The interviewer - Elizabeth, if Bruce recalled correctly - leaned towards him, head cocked. “Tell us about your new tech.”

“Well, we haven’t settled on a name yet,” Bruce said, flashing a playful little smile at Elizabeth just to make her laugh. “Somehow, we’ve managed to leave that part until last. What it is, though, is something that will make communication far, far easier. Phones are fantastic, but we’re hoping that the simplicity of this device will make it much more accessible.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw a picture of it appear on the large screen at the back of the studio. It looked like a smartwatch, really, and underneath the frilly statements the board had asked him to say, that was what it came down to. It was sleek and pretty, and matched other pieces of Wayne Tech that were out there on the market already. Almost like he’d rehearsed it, Bruce lifted his arm to display the prototype version on his wrist. 

“It will still require a connection to a phone,” he explained, tapping on the side of it, “but we’re doing our best to make it compatible with  _ any _ model, no matter how old.” The display behind him shifted, fading into another promotional image that Wayne Enterprises had supplied. “The watch will process the command you give it and translate that to your phone. So far, we’ve found that the watch is incredibly sensitive; our tests have shown it can tell the difference between a command and a comment during a conversation.”

“That’s incredible.” Elizabeth nodded along with him. Bruce was pretty sure her fascination was actually genuine, not just painted on for TV. “Is there anything else you can tell us about it? Do you know how much it will cost?”

“I can’t give exact figures yet,” Bruce said, folding his hands politely in his lap again, “but we’re looking to price it as low as possible, so hopefully anyone can purchase one.” Truth be told, if Bruce had his way, he’d happily sell it at a loss just to make it more accessible. “Our goal is to make communication easy for everyone. We want anyone to be able to stay in touch with their loved ones.”

Another line from the board, but that was something that Bruce believed in, at least. Elizabeth sat up straight before the slight change of topic, and Bruce knew what was coming next. He’d prepared himself; his PR team had cleared questions beforehand. They would make the advertisement seem more human, they had said, though he privately wondered if it was just to draw people in for the gossip instead.

“Staying in touch with loved ones is important, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Wayne? Even for someone who has been trying to stay out of the public eye recently.” Her smile was warm, inviting.

“It’s incredibly important,” Bruce agreed, inclining his head. Then, grinning, he added, “I thought it was time to let someone else take the spotlight. I’ve had more than my fair share of time in it over the years, and we all have to grow up sometime.”

Elizabeth laughed at his joke, just at the right level of amused. She was as good as him, he realised. “Of course, of course. It comes with the territory of being tied down, I suppose?”

It was framed as a question, just like Bruce had expected. He’d already said that he wasn’t going to air any details about his relationship, but with Jim’s permission, he’d agreed to at least mention it. The public already knew about it by now anyway, and given that Bruce wanted to stay with Jim, he knew it would have happened at some point regardless. Besides, the more charmingly he presented himself, the less likely people were to pry.

“Partially.” Bruce offered a charming smile. His heart still fluttered at every mention of Jim - a mixture of nerves about being interviewed and his feelings - but he was careful to keep his expression pleasantly neutral. “Commissioner Gordon and I both have busy jobs, so taking a step back seemed like the best way to stay grounded and connected.”

“And so you want to accomplish something similar with this new piece of tech,” Elizabeth prompted. 

“Exactly.” 

The interview moved on, circling back to Wayne Enterprises, and Bruce breathed an internal sigh of relief. No disasters this time, not like the one where reporters had pounced on him. It was easy to settle back into the discussion over less dangerous waters, and by the time they were done and Bruce was handing back his lapel mic, he felt pretty pleased with himself.

No disasters, no embarrassing reveals about his relationship. Just a mention of Jim, and then a normal interview about his company’s next moves.

* * *

Bruce was in his office when Iman messaged him. Her name popped up on his computer, and Bruce glanced up from his work to read it. 

_ Bruce, come to my office ASAP. It’s important. _

He frowned, fingers pausing on the keyboard. Iman wasn’t usually so short; in fact, she was more than happy to chat when there was time, or to go into detail if it was about work. It was something deeply serious then, and the thought of the unknown made Bruce’s stomach twist in a way he hadn’t felt since… well, since he was Batman. As his pulse thundered in his ears, he locked his computer with a quick key combination, and then shoved his chair back to make his way downstairs.

Her door was open, and she was already standing when he came in. “Get the door,” she said, skipping the greeting entirely.

Bruce closed it firmly behind him. “What’s going on, Iman?”

“It’s the Agency,” she said, and Bruce’s world flipped upside down.

He came to join her at her desk, nervous energy jittering through his body. Bruce had been hoping that nothing this big would come up after he’d retired as Batman, but of course it had only been a matter of time. “What are they playing at?”

“That’s just it,” Iman said, shrugging, looking miserable, “I don’t know. You know my old partner, Blake?”

Bruce nodded. “I remember him.” 

“I kept in contact with him after I left,” Iman admitted. She tucked her hair behind her ear with slightly trembling fingers. “We’re old friends, I didn’t want to cut him off. We talked, I explained my side, and… he decided to keep me informed.”

Well, that was a surprise. He wasn’t shocked by Iman remaining in contact with Blake, not when their friendship had been obvious from the first moment he’d seen them working together; he hadn’t expected her to use her connection quite like that, though. “Huh,” was all Bruce had to say.

“He hasn’t been able to tell me much, just bits and pieces.” Iman reached for her tablet, tapped on the screen, and then offered it to Bruce. “Here’s what I noted so far. It’s not much, more just their general operations outside of Gotham. I… I think they realised that he was spreading secrets, though. Blake said they mentioned my name, and now Waller’s taken him off active duty.”

Bruce glanced up, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure it wasn’t just in passing?”

“It wasn’t.” Iman shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “Bruce… I think they’re planning something. You know what Waller’s like, she won’t like being kept out of an entire city. She thinks she’s too important.”

He sighed through his nose as he tapped through the information on screen. Iman was right, there wasn’t a lot. There certainly wasn’t anything concrete. 

Still, just knowing was enough.

“Thank you,” Bruce said, offering Iman her tablet back. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I’ll get the Batcomputer to keep an eye out for any Agency traces.” He grimaced, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping it would soothe the beginnings of the stress headache he could feel building. He certainly didn’t miss those from his Batman days. “I don’t know what they’d want-”

“Me,” Iman said simply.

Bruce looked up at her. Iman held her tablet to her chest like a shield, her arms folded across it. She was frowning, almost determined, but Bruce knew she wasn’t exactly pleased to come to that conclusion. Iman was the first to break the staring match, looking down and away. “At least, I’m probably part of it. I know Agency secrets, and I’m not bound by any deal like you are. I just quit. Waller won’t like that.”

“You’re safe here in Gotham,” Bruce said quietly.

“Physically? Maybe.” Iman smiled sort of sadly. “Legally? Doubtful. How did she phrase the deal after catching Joker?”

Bruce grimaced. “She said she would withdraw from Gotham,” he said. “That, and that she would keep my identity hidden, and leave a certain friend alone.  _ God.” _ He ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring how it ruined the neatly styled look. “I was an idiot to trust that she’d stay away from Gotham completely. She only agreed to  _ withdraw.” _

“It’s not your fault.” Iman settled back against the edge of her desk. She seemed so much smaller than the strong woman who had taken the reins to Wayne Enterprises so readily just a handful of months ago. “So… if we look at the ‘assets’ that weren’t clarified in the deal…”

“We have you,” Bruce said, counting it out on his fingers. “She has Harley, Bane, and Catwoman. Mr. Freeze is long gone, I don’t know where, so we can count him out.”

“Joker.” Iman looked up at him, eyes a little wider. “Nobody has him either.”

“He’s in Arkham, and he hates Waller.” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think he’d be willing to work with her.”

“He doesn’t have to be willing. Shock collars, remember?”

Bruce rubbed his forehead. “She needs to get one on him first. He’d be a risky target to go after.” He dropped his hand again, sliding them both into his pockets instead. “We just need to keep an eye on Arkham. It’ll be fine.”

Iman didn’t look like she believed him, but she accepted his answer anyway. “Okay,” she said, nodding once. “I can… I can look out for anything from here, from our Arkham contacts. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thank you.” Bruce pushed himself off from her desk. “I’m going to go handle things on my end. The sooner we start watching, the better.”

Iman had already circled around her desk to sit again. She looked relieved to take the weight off of her feet; the stress of it had already sunken in, leaving her looking like the same determined, frowning woman he’d seen when he’d first met her. Bruce felt a pang as she sunk right back into work, typing furiously at her keyboard. 

He came around to squeeze her shoulder gently. “Hey, Iman. It’s gonna be okay.”

She offered him a smile. It was small and a little fragile, but genuine. “I hope so, Bruce. I hope so.”

* * *

Bruce half expected something to happen immediately. He was wary enough of the Agency, especially after how hasty they’d become at the end of their time in Gotham; half of the problems wouldn’t have happened if Waller hadn’t escalated things with John on the bridge. That, Bruce knew, was not his fault, not when he’d tried his utmost to keep things calm. The blame there lay solely with Waller.

Neither Iman nor the Batcomputer picked up anything. The latter lay dormant in the Batcave once again after Bruce walked away from it, guilt prickling at him as he stepped back.

He’d promised Alfred that he wouldn’t be Batman again. This was toeing the line of falling back into his old ways, and Bruce didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t ignore the value of the technology at his fingertips, though, not when it came down to something as serious as Waller. Once this was done, he would tell Alfred, and he could only hope that Alfred would understand and forgive him.

Tiffany watched him from her workbench behind him. “What are you doing?”

Bruce shifted on the balls of his feet. “Working,” he said evasively. 

Tools clinked on the table as she set them down. “Bruce, I thought I was part of your mission now.”

He sighed. She had a point; it had been a little unfair of him to invite her into the Batman fold and then retire almost immediately. Tiffany had taken up other duties since - mostly helping the GCPD with evidence from underneath her own mask - and while she had been excelling at it, the original plan for her had admittedly changed quite dramatically. “Alright. The Agency might be snooping around, so I’m having the Batcomputer keep watch.” 

Standing up, Tiffany trotted over to his side to take a look at the now dark screen. “What do they want?”

“Joker, maybe.” Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know exactly.”

“You know, I can check on it for you,” Tiffany said. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m down here most days anyway working, and it means you can keep your promise a little easier.”

It was, admittedly, a bit embarrassing to be read so plainly. Bruce wasn’t aware that his discomfort had been that obvious, but… that wasn’t a bad idea. “You already know the log in details,” Bruce said, nodding towards it. “If you could, that would actually be really helpful. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Tiffany gave him a lazy salute. “You got it, Bruce.”

Even so, with Tiffany checking every day, nothing came up. Reports scrolled through the Batcomputer regularly of the mundane day to day activities of Arkham and Wayne Tower, but nothing that suggested that the Agency had made an attempt to reach out. In the end, it faded somewhat from Bruce’s thoughts; now that he wasn’t Batman, his attention had shifted more to normal life, it seemed, and it was easier to let go of threats that might not even exist.

In the months that followed, construction on the new GCPD headquarters completed. There was an opening ceremony that he attended, and the press were delighted to see him and Jim together in public, even in a professional setting. Later, when they and the other officers and board members were on the front page, there was still a good chunk of the article that was dedicated to recounting their relationship. Once again, reporters lamented that they now kept to private meetings much more - neither of them wanted to be stared down by cameras while they ate dinner - rather than give as much of the page to the actual developments. It was frustrating, but predictable.

Arkham wasn’t far behind. A new wing had been added so far, and while the plans were still being drawn out for further extensions, staff were trained in newer, kinder material that would hopefully help some of Arkham’s patients rather than hurt them further. Most of it was with Bruce’s input.

Despite himself, Bruce listened a little harder when he spoke to his Arkham correspondents, but he didn’t hear anything to make him suspicious.

He lost himself in the flow of work and home life, spending his days at Wayne Tower and his evenings with Alfred, Jim, Tiffany and, occasionally, Iman, all in varying combinations. He no longer spent late nights out on the streets catching criminals, and neither did he sleep late into the day just to catch up on his rest. There was no worry about his life coming to a premature end, and he didn’t have to think about what would happen to Alfred if he suddenly vanished. Now, they were family, plain and simple.

For the first time, Bruce knew what it was like to lead a semi-peaceful existence. 

* * *

“Bruce,” Jim laughed, desperately trying to untangle himself. “Bruce, I have to leave. I’m late.”

“I’m more important,” Bruce huffed, tugging Jim back down by the lapels of his coat to kiss him again. He was still in bed, covered only up to his naked waist as he and Jim traded just a few more pecks. Then, already laughing at himself, he said, “I’ll pull some strings with the boss.”

“I  _ am _ the boss.”

“The mayor, then.”

Bruce  _ was _ making a pretty convincing case with the way he kissed Jim a little harder. Still, he reached up to take Bruce’s hands in his own and gently pull them away. “I have work to do,” Jim said, grinning. “And so do you, _ Mr. CEO.” _

“Ugh, fine. I’ll be right behind you.” Bruce stole one more quick kiss, and then flopped back onto his pillows. “Have a good day. I love you.”

God, it still made Jim’s heart flutter when he heard those three words from him. That, coupled with the way Bruce’s features had softened with it was the thing that almost made Jim crack and climb right back into bed with him. “I love you, too. I’ll see you later. What are we having for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet.” Bruce stretched luxuriously, and Jim glanced away to grab his coat before he could see the flash of bare hip he knew was coming. It wasn’t fair that Bruce was so effortlessly sexy. “I’ll figure something out. I thought you were late for work?”

“I am.” Jim scooped up his phone, and he grabbed one last kiss before he went for the door. “See you later, Bruce.”

Laughter followed him out into the hallway. “Bye, Jim.”

He wasn’t even to the door before his phone was ringing in his pocket, summoning him to the office with a plea for the commissioner’s attention. Even now, as he climbed into his car with apologies for his lateness, the warmth from Bruce’s bed lingered in his chest.

* * *

Bruce’s day started much the same: with Wayne Tower acting as if there was a fire, running back and forth with various problems to solve. His presence brought a reassuring calm to the storm, and Bruce spent his morning offering easy solutions and reassurances until things had resolved themselves. Iman tried to catch him at several points, worry lines creasing her face, but Bruce never had the time to stop moving; all he could do was apologise when he passed her, and carry on striding down the hallway to the next urgent meeting.

He didn’t get a break until midday, when he had the chance to sink into the chair behind his desk with a hastily grabbed lunch. Bruce hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was until he bit into his sandwich and slumped onto his elbows, relieved. 

Iman let herself in without asking, sighing when she saw him. “Finally.”

“Sorry,” Bruce said, swallowing. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t have the time. If you don’t mind me eating, we can talk now.”

But Iman wasn’t listening. She strode over to his desk, her heels clicking against the floor, and she laid a letter down on the desk over his napkin. “You’re gonna want to take a look at this, Bruce.”

His appetite evaporated.

The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but the nickname was:  _ Brucie. _

Only one person had ever called him that.

Bruce exchanged his sandwich for the envelope. “When… when did this arrive?”

“This morning, before you got here.” Iman sat down opposite him, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled. “That’s an Agency stamp. I recognise it.”

He turned it over in his hands carefully, wary of disturbing it too much. Part of him wanted to call the GCPD, but there wasn’t exactly anything they could do with just a letter. It didn’t seem like it was about to burst into flames, at any rate. “And ‘Brucie’ is what John used to call me,” he said, looking up to meet Iman’s gaze.

Her lips thinned. “It sounds like they got to him after all, Bruce.”

“Shit.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going about as poorly as he could have imagined. “I didn’t hear anything. The Batcomputer didn’t pick up anything odd, there were no sightings…”

“Blake didn’t have anything to say about it either.” Iman drummed her fingers on her knee nervously. “What do we do?”

Bruce tucked his finger under the seal and tugged. “We read the letter.” 

It slipped out into Bruce’s waiting hand, short enough that John hadn’t even needed to fold the paper. Bruce skimmed it quickly, and then doubled back to read it again as he ran cold. That one bite of his lunch sat heavy in his stomach, an uncomfortable weight now when it had been so welcome just a few minutes before.

“I have to go,” Bruce said, standing up abruptly. 

“Bruce?” Iman twisted in her seat as he walked past, letter clutched in one hand and his phone in the other. “Where are you going? What’s going on?”

He didn’t reply. He was out of the door and in the elevator before he glanced down at the letter again, crumpled from his fist. At his ear, his phone rang, and Jim didn’t pick up.

_ ACE Chemicals.  
_ _ Your commissioner is here, too. Be here by 4pm, alone.  
_ _ See you soon, Brucie. _

* * *

The GCPD was in chaos. 

Jim had been swept off of his feet the second he’d arrived that morning. Renee had walked and talked with him on his way to his new office, updating him.

All of their communication was down. Wifi, radios, everything - gone. No messages in or out of the GCPD, at least not through official channels. Right now, patrol cars were relying on their personal phones, Renee explained; she’d already called ahead to let them know they needed to continue as normal, and to end their shift they just needed to come back and rotate out as usual. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know where he’d be without Renee’s quick thinking.

Jim wound up at his desk, surrounded by paperwork from the various companies that had been used for the power, the internet, the radio systems, calling and trying to track who could help with what. The rest of the building was simply… shut down. Given that most of their data had been incinerated in the explosion several months ago, most of the cases were currently digital. They had been working on getting paper copies of everything again, just for the sake of ease, but that would be halted now, too.

The GCPD was, essentially, at a standstill until Jim found a way to solve this. The cops out on the streets could perform their usual duties, but anyone in the building could only trade out on being a touchpoint for the patrol vehicles, and could do very little else.

The problem was, there didn’t seem to  _ be _ a problem. No matter who he called, nobody could tell him that they had a solution, and more often than not, Jim found himself waiting for a call back. Between that, he had officer after officer knocking at his office door, asking after updates and getting gruff answers in return. The warmth he’d carried into work with him this morning had only gone so far in the end.

At around three in the afternoon, he had a rare moment of quiet, and he seized it.

Jim sunk down with his head in his hands, massaging his temples to try and work away the stress headache he could feel building. It had been there for a little while now, teasing at the edge of his consciousness, and it was trying to take over now that he had a second. He skipped the cold cup of coffee on his desk in favour of a bottle of water, gulping it down in the hope that it might help.

And then his phones rang.

Both his office and his personal.

Jim glanced at his mobile. Bruce’s picture showed up on screen - a sweet one of him that Jim had taken himself when he’d caught Bruce unaware, out in the gardens around Wayne Manor. He was smiling in the photo, relaxed in a way that Jim rarely saw him. Just seeing that made him ache for the soft warmth Bruce seemed to radiate whenever they were together.

His gaze slid over to the one on his desk, and he sighed. He couldn’t ignore it.

Reluctantly, Jim turned away from Bruce’s call. He’d explain it to him later; Bruce would understand when he knew how busy Jim had been. Once more, he dived back in, shuffling through the paper contracts until he found what was  _ probably _ the correct one. 

Eventually, his mobile stopped ringing.

* * *

Jim didn’t answer.

Normally, Bruce would just assume that he was busy. He was the commissioner, after all; he had the whole GCPD to run, and aside from a few texts throughout the day, he didn’t often hear from Jim until he was actually out of work - and that was only when he worked days instead of other odd shifts. 

This was different, though. The fact that Jim didn’t pick up made John’s note just that bit more believable, enough that Bruce was already well on his way to ACE Chemicals.

He wished he could be Batman, or, at the very least, that he could have Tiffany as backup. He wasn’t willing to test John’s patience, and so he’d done exactly what the note had said: Bruce was on his way alone, without informing anyone of his whereabouts. Unfortunately, that meant also playing directly into Alfred’s concern about Batman in the first place, except now it had bled through into Bruce Wayne’s life instead.

If he had stopped to think, to plan, he could have worked his way through a few different scenarios. Instead, given that he had no Batsuit, no tech other than his prototype smartwatch, and definitely no prepared point of contact at home, Bruce forged ahead.

He’d never felt so alone, even as Batman.

ACE Chemicals was still and silent when Bruce arrived. There was no sign of life; no other cars, nothing to indicate that someone had recently been here. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the cigarette Jim had smoked as he revealed his identity still lingered down the side of the building, untouched after Jim had put it out under his heel. 

_ Jim. _ Bruce squared his shoulders and headed for the entrance.

The last time he’d been inside, Bruce had had the benefit of being Batman, though it hadn’t helped much when he was so freshly injured. It had been a struggle, one that Bruce didn’t remember fondly. Even so, heading into the chemical plant without his suit felt like walking into the lion’s den.

The inside was just as quiet as the outside. Bruce skimmed his palm along the railing on the walkway he’d taken before, casting a wary glance around to take in as much as he could: dark, silent, no signs of any struggling. Last time, Waller had been on clear display on the next level up, but now Bruce couldn’t even see John anywhere. 

_ Click. _ Light flooded down from above. Bruce winced, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Brucie!” A familiar, delighted voice echoed down to him. “How good of you to make it! Don’t mind the spotlight, you know me - always with the flair for the dramatic.”

He lowered his hand, already frowning as he sought out the speaker. John had his hands planted on the balcony railing as he grinned down at Bruce. His hair was a mess - he clearly hadn’t taken the time to style it like he had before - but his clothes were similar enough to the gear he’d worn as a vigilante. The purple and green was a glaring beacon in the dim, dull light. 

“I did as you asked,” Bruce called back. Fuck the pleasantries; John didn’t deserve that now. “Where’s Jim?”

“Oh! The commissioner.” John settled down on his elbows so he could plop his chin in his hands. “I guess I did mention him, didn’t I?”

Bruce’s fist tightened around the barrier next to him, and then he forced his grip to relax again a second later. “Where is he?” he asked, as slowly and calmly as he could manage. “What have you done with him?”

“What  _ have _ I done with Commissioner Gordon?” John pushed himself upright, just so he could put a hand to his chin in a dramatic thoughtful pose. “What  _ did _ I do with Commissioner Gordon? You’ll have to give me a sec, Brucie, my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.”

He bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t snap at him. Bruce had enough experience with John to know that that wasn’t the best plan, even if every inch of his body screamed at him to act.

He couldn’t. He  _ wouldn’t. _ He didn’t have the tools to fight, and John had Jim.

“Oh! Yeah, I remember now.” As quick as a flash, John hopped over the railing to drop down onto Bruce’s level. The catwalk rattled worryingly underneath their feet, but held firm. “I lied, Bruce,” John snarled, dropping the friendly act in an instant. “I lied, just like  _ you _ did to  _ me _ time after time.”

Bruce’s blood ran cold. “Jim’s not here?”

“Nope!” John spread his hands, gesturing around them at the open expanse of the chemical plant. “I never brought him here. I just wanted _you_ here. And, well, I figured what better way to get your attention than to go after your policeman friend? Or, you know,” he paused, winking, “should I say fling? That’s what the media likes to call them, right?”

Grinding his teeth, Bruce folded his arms across his chest like a shield. He had to think, and he had to think fast. He needed to leave, that much was true, but more importantly, he needed to make sure John was apprehended. As much as he wanted out, he couldn’t walk away knowing that the villain he’d created was on the loose. Gotham needed its promise of peace, and John needed to be somewhere that would be safe for him, too.

Somehow, he needed to contact someone.

All he had on him, though, was his phone and the prototype smartwatch.

His watch!

Bruce shifted, thumbing at his sleeve as if he was fidgeting. Carefully, he left it tugged up a little, just enough to expose his watch. “Well, you have my attention now,” Bruce said, raising his eyebrows. “What do you want?”

“And here I was thinking I was being obvious.” John rolled his eyes. “I wanted  _ you, _ Brucie.”

It was hardly surprising, but it was still a punch to the gut. “Why, though?”

“You never call,” John said, pouting. “You never write or visit or  _ anything. _ I thought we  _ had _ something, Brucie. After all we’d been through, even the lies, I thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t threaten loved ones,” Bruce said, tilting his head.

“Friends don’t just  _ stop visiting,” _ John hissed right back. “You left me.”

“So you thought you’d bring me here.” It was time to act. Trying to appear as fidgety as he could, Bruce raised a hand as if to smooth it through his hair. On his way, just as his watch passed by his face, he said, “So you thought you’d  _ call Jim _ here to scare me into coming, to guarantee it.”

As his hand lowered back to his side, Bruce checked the screen, and he bit back a sigh of relief. It worked; a call was going out to Jim. Bruce could only hope that he picked up this time.

“Well, yeah,” John scoffed. “What else was I supposed to do?”

There was a buzz at his wrist. His heart jumped.

“There are other ways to contact me,” Bruce said, reaching up to adjust his tie. “You didn’t have to bring me to ACE Chemicals. Why here, anyway, John?”

“It’s  _ Joker!” _

His screech rang in Bruce’s ears as it bounced back from metal plates and walls. He grimaced, shaking his head, and ignored the sensation of a gentle, continuous vibration at his wrist; it was just noise softly buzzing through the speaker, though it was mostly inaudible. He just hoped that John was distracted enough to miss anything.

No, not John. It really was Joker. Bruce swallowed hard as he forced himself to accept that fact. Even if Joker still wanted the friendship they had shared, that had faded along with Bruce’s impression of John.

“Okay,” Bruce said, “then why here, Joker?”

He watched as Joker exhaled slowly and smoothed down his coat. He was silent for a beat, and then when his gaze snapped back to Bruce’s, he was smiling again like nothing had happened. “Because, Brucie, this is where it all happened! This is where  _ we _ happened!”

“I remember.” Bruce puffed out a short breath through his nose, laughing without much humour. He couldn’t exactly forget when it had ended in a fight between the two of them that had resulted in them both being painfully wounded. “But, Joker, this place has bad memories, doesn’t it? Why would you want to come here?”

“I can’t exactly go anywhere else.” Joker wrinkled his nose. “The subway station was left abandoned for  _ months, _ and you weren’t coming back to Arkham. Besides, I had to see if I could track down my old stuff, but…” Joker trailed off, turning on the spot to stare around at the empty catwalks. He sighed. “No Jokerangs or grapple gun. Took me ages to make those…”

While his back was turned, Bruce chanced a glance down at his watch. The call had ended at some point, but a text from Jim waited on his screen:  _ On my way. I’m bringing backup, just hold on. _

“What are you doing?”

Bruce snapped his attention back up again to find Joker glaring at him. “I’m, uh, checking the time,” he said, offering a little smile. “You pulled me out of work, after all-”

“No.” Joker stalked towards him, and Bruce couldn’t help the automatic step back he took. “No, no, no, you’re not checking the time, are you, Brucie? No, you’re  _ plotting _ something, aren’t you?”

Shit. Gambling had cost him.

“Bruce,” Joker growled, lips curling back to bare his teeth, “tell me the truth. You  _ owe _ me that.”

“I don’t owe you,” Bruce replied, firm. It was probably the wrong move, but the game was up now, and he could see that Joker was beginning to scramble for control of the situation. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because we’re friends!” Joker snapped. He stepped closer again, but this time Bruce stayed put.

_ “Were _ friends,” he said coolly. “We haven’t been for a long, long time.”

Joker howled, and then he was upon him.

Much like the last time they had fought, Joker was uncoordinated and wild, more focused on lashing out than doing any real damage right away. It was easy enough to sidestep his first lunge, much to Bruce’s relief; he knew he was out of practice, and he was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake in allowing himself to provoke Joker.

At least Joker didn’t have something sharp this time. 

But there was something at his waist. Bruce couldn’t make it out, but something in his brain set off alarm bells.

Joker missed him as he moved to the side again, clanging into the barrier with a wordless growl. Bruce turned, arms raised to deflect a blow without thinking as Joker threw himself at him again; the gesture was still instinctive, he realised, as Joker collided with him. His forearm took the hit for him, and while he figured he’d have a bruise there later, at least it wouldn’t be anything worse. He found himself moving backwards as Joker pressed him, though, and slowly but surely, Bruce lost ground as he remained on the defensive. 

“Joker,” Bruce hissed, grunting when he swatted away another desperate attempt at a punch. “Stop! This doesn’t solve anything!”

“Stop  _ talking!” _ Joker roared, and before Bruce knew it, he was being shoved backwards. His arms windmilled for a moment until one of his hands landed on a railing, and he gripped it tight enough that his knuckles turned white with the strain. “Shut  _ up, _ Bruce! Stop  _ talking, _ all you ever do is  _ talk!” _

He punctuated the last word with another shove, and Bruce stumbled back once more. Thankfully, with his grip on the railing, he didn’t go far, and Joker finally stopped advancing on him. He stood there, shoulders heaving with panted breaths, as he glared at Bruce with pure hatred in every line of his face. 

Bruce had never been scared by Joker before. He had always had control over a situation, had always had a way out if he needed it.

Now, though, in this moment, Bruce knew what it was to fear him.

The door banged open further down the wall. They both snapped towards the noise, and Bruce felt a rush of warm relief and further cold terror as Jim stepped through the door. In an instant, he swept his gun up and aimed it at Joker’s chest in a smooth, calculated movement.

“Jim,” Bruce gasped, throwing out a hand, “wait-”

“Oh, no, no,  _ no, _ Commissioner,” Joker said. Casually, without a care in the world, he reached for the object Bruce had seen at his belt, and then the muzzle of a gun hovered inches away from his face. Joker pouted. “I think you’re gonna want to drop that.”

Bruce stayed frozen still. He’d stared down the barrel of a gun many, many times across his years as Batman, but it had been a long time since he’d done so as Bruce Wayne.

Slowly, Jim lowered his gun, grimacing as he did. “Alright, alright,” he sighed. There was a click as he switched the safety back on, and then Jim tossed the gun to the ground between his feet. “There.”

“Good boy, Commissioner. Now kick it away.”

Jim did so. Metal clattered against metal as it skidded down the catwalk, behind Joker and out of reach. Bruce had never liked guns, but he would have appreciated the leverage of having one on their side right now; Jim was one of the few people he trusted to use one properly. 

Well, that leverage was gone now. 

“How good of you to join us, Commissioner,” Joker said. His gun hand was drooping a little, complacent now that he was the one holding all of the power. If he pulled the trigger, though, Bruce would still take a bullet, and that would be enough. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect another guest tonight, but I just  _ love _ having people over!”

“Leave him out-” Bruce started, only to stop when the gun snapped up to eye level again.

“I’ve heard enough outta you right now, Brucie,” Joker spat. “You’re gonna stay nice and quiet while  _ we _ have a little chat.”

Obediently, Bruce kept his mouth firmly shut.

“What do you want, Joker?” Jim asked gruffly. 

“Oh,  _ please, _ we’ve been over this.” Joker rolled his eyes, and he gestured at Bruce with the gun.  _ “Him. _ I wanted to  _ talk, _ but I’m sure you know all about his not shutting up.”

Bruce felt Jim’s gaze flick to him, but he didn’t meet it. He kept watching Joker, waiting for some kind of crack in the armour while his attention was elsewhere. So far, no dice. 

“Alright, then let me rephrase:  _ what  _ do you want with him?”

“Well, I wanted a little reunion, but Bruce didn’t sound so excited about it. You wouldn’t believe how  _ rude _ he was, Commissioner.” A smile pulled on the corners of Joker’s lips, curling them upwards. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea now, though.” 

Joker turned, pinning Bruce in place with his glare. “You put me through hell,” he hissed, “so I’m just returning the favour.”

A snarky reply died on the tip of Bruce’s tongue when the barrel bumped against his chest. Joker smirked.

“Commissioner,” Joker called, almost singsong, “did you know that our little friend Brucie has a secret?”

“A secret?” 

“Mhm! A very,  _ very _ big secret.”

Bruce fought the urge to close his eyes. He wanted to in quiet exasperation, but he forced himself to watch Joker. The gun dipped again; his focus was on Jim now, eager for his reaction to a secret that he already knew. 

“Really?” Jim folded his arms. “Go on.”

Joker glanced at Bruce out of the corners of his eyes. He heard the quiet laugh Joker bit back, but it spilled out of him a moment later regardless as he turned wide eyes towards Jim. “Bruce Wayne,” Joker said, swinging his free hand towards Bruce to point, “is  _ Batman.” _

Silence. 

Bruce waited.

“Huh,” Jim said. “Well… shit. Who would’ve thought?”

Joker’s smile flickered. While it wasn’t far off what Jim’s reaction really had been, something was off, and Joker knew it. “You’re… you’re not surprised,” he said. “You… you knew?”

“No,” Jim said quickly, “I didn’t know, this is news to-”

“You  _ knew! _ You  _ told _ him!” Joker’s free hand zipped up to his hair, running through it desperately. “No, this isn’t how this was supposed to  _ go, _ it’s not what she  _ promised-” _

Before Bruce could think too much about the ‘she’, he acted.

In a series of quick moves, he disarmed Joker, snatching the gun from his hand and popping the magazine out. It landed on the catwalk with a clatter, and Bruce tossed the empty gun away from the three of them, over the railing to let it tumble down below.

Something collided with his cheek, and he dropped to his knees with a grunt. Joker reeled back, shaking his fingers out - had he  _ punched _ Bruce? - as he backed away, eyes wide. “This isn’t… I didn’t want… This isn’t how it was supposed to  _ happen!” _ he repeated, and, with a wordless growl of fury and frustration, Joker sprinted deeper into ACE Chemicals, scrambling through an escape exit.

Bruce pushed himself up, grasping at the railing. “Wait!”

A hand cupped him under his upper arm, helping to lift him up. “Let him go, Bruce,” Jim murmured, “I’ve got cops around the perimeter. If they don’t catch him, they’ll see where he went.” He hissed as he gently tilted Bruce’s head to the side to see his cheek. “He got you good there. You’re gonna have a shiner. How’d you even end up here?”

Bruce bit his tongue for a moment. He was agitated, full of energy with nowhere to put it; he wanted to get out after Joker, but he knew that his role here was coming to an end. He was a civilian, and nothing more. “He said he had you,” Bruce admitted. “That, coupled with him suddenly being out of Arkham…”

“Ah.” Jim nodded once in quiet understanding. “Well, let’s get back out after him.”

Clasping Jim’s hand in his own, Bruce shoved the double doors open to stalk back out into the night. “You can. I have to go back to Wayne Manor.”

“What?” Jim stopped him before they reached the circle of cops waiting. They lowered their weapons once they saw their boss, nodding at him in silent recognition. “What do you mean, you have to get back to the manor?”

The question tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings. He’d never realised how much of a pull the cowl had until this moment, but it was still surprisingly easy to turn away from it. “I’m not Batman anymore,” he murmured, quiet enough that it was just for Jim. “I can’t be out there. I have an idea, though.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re sure about this?”

Jim leaned out of the driver’s window of his car, frowning as Bruce clapped Tiffany on the shoulder. “Positive,” he said to her, smiling. “Go with Jim, help how you can with your drone. I’ll be in the Batcave. I’ll still be able to talk to you both. Think of me as your Alfred.”

As much as Jim didn’t like the idea of sending a twenty-something out into the field with the GCPD, he had to admit that it was sort of poetic. He’d already seen what she could do, and he could only imagine the improvements the Fox kid would have made over the past few months. Even her suit looked more professional now; rather than fabric, it was armoured much like Batman’s suit had been, except the black and purple design made it completely original. Her drone - in matching colours, of course - currently rested over her shoulders, holding onto her like a baby koala.

“Well, alright.” Tiffany turned to face Jim, peering at him through the eyes of her mask. “You good with me tagging along?”

“If Bruce trusts you, I trust you.” Jim tilted his head towards the passenger seat. “Hop in, kid.”

As she circled around the car, Bruce came up to Jim’s side. Bruce leaned down, taking the opportunity to peck Jim’s cheek. “Be safe,” he said quietly. 

Jim could see that it was killing him to stay home. Sure, it had been months since Bruce had last worn the Batsuit, but there hadn’t been much cause for it since Waller’s brief kidnapping. For the most part, Gotham’s crime had been made up of thieving and robberies, which were all things that the GCPD could handle without the caped crusader. Now that the stakes were a little higher, though, Bruce clearly wanted to help. 

It was why he’d made the offer of being a point of contact in the Batcave. He could still help without being in the field. Jim saw right through it.

“Always am,” Jim replied, catching Bruce’s fingers to give them a squeeze. Reluctantly, he settled back into his seat and switched on the engine. 

“Get your drone in the sky as quickly as possible, Tiffany,” Bruce said, peering past Jim to see Tiffany in the passenger seat. “I can always take over and see if I can scout ahead.”

“Got it.” Tiffany gave him a thumbs up. 

“Stay safe,” Bruce repeated, this time for the both of them. Jim waited until he took a step back, and then he pressed down on the gas, turning his car towards the streets of Gotham.

Jim tapped at the radio. “I’m back on the road. Where’s the suspect?”

_ “We’re currently in pursuit along the docks, Commissioner.” _

He nodded to himself, and he let up off the button as he started for the docks. “You got a superhero name, kid?” Jim asked. “I doubt you want me using your real name where everyone can hear. Little easier to avoid when it’s just evidence scanning, not so much now.”

“Uh…” Tiffany’s voice came out differently now, lower. Jim realised belatedly that she’d adopted Bruce’s habit of using a voice modulator. Smart. “Batwing.”

“Batwing. Got it.”

Jim hit another button, and the sirens on his roof blared into life. Cars parted for them a little easier now, though it wasn’t entirely necessary; night had fallen during the confrontation, as early as it always had descended in Gotham, and the roads were a little emptier now. 

Next to him, Tiffany reached up to her ear, tapping at it to listen. She hummed in acknowledgement, and then said, “Bruce is online now. I’m gonna send out the drone, see if we can find Joker quicker.”

“Go for it.”

It was awkward given the lack of space in the front, but Tiffany wrestled the drone off of her back and rolled down the window. There, she eased one half of the drone out into the air whooshing past Jim’s car, and a moment later, purple light began to glow along the lining of the bulky piece of machinery. It unfolded itself, seemingly aware of the window frame around it, and then took off into the night. Jim watched it zoom past the windshield before vanishing amongst the city lights.

“Hey! Be careful with her,” Tiffany huffed. “Don’t break her after I spent all that time upgrading her.”

Tiffany laughed at something Bruce said, and Jim began to see why Bruce had taken her on. He hadn’t known Lucius Fox very well - the man had had a squeaky clean record, and Jim had only ever met him in passing - but his daughter was him through and through.

She snapped to attention only a moment later. “Bruce says he’s spotted a fire towards the edge of the city, way north of the docks. The car Joker was using is driving away.”

Jim made an abrupt turn, and then reached for his radio to relay the information back to the GCPD.

Damn. Tiffany and Bruce were a good team. It was almost like having Batman back on the streets.

Joker led them on a wild goose chase throughout Gotham, causing problems seemingly without rhyme or reason. There was another fire after the first, plenty of stuff on pavements that he’d simply driven through or over, and a couple of cars that he’d quickly swapped out of or grabbed from an unsuspecting civilian at a stoplight. It wasn’t quite the trail of destruction Jim had expected from him, if he was honest. Joker usually seemed much more focused than that. It was baffling that he was acting so erratic.

“City lines,” Tiffany blurted out, reaching out to grip the handle on her door as Jim swerved again. “City lines, on the east-”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Jim cursed under his breath as his wheels protested, but he quickly found grip again. They hadn’t even  _ seen _ Joker, so he had no idea how they were going to catch up in time.

“Bruce,” Tiffany said, hand on her ear again, “see if you can slow him down.” A pause, and then Tiffany exhaled. “Okay, his tyres are out. He’s not gonna make it in that car, and he’s far enough out that he’s not gonna have time to hotwire one.”

“Suspect is on foot,” Jim reported, holding down the radio button once more. “East Gotham, suspect is on foot, heading towards city boundaries.”

Within minutes, a purple blur dropped into view ahead of Jim’s car. It took a right when Jim went straight, and it was only when it doubled back to do the same again that Jim realised that Bruce was trying to lead him. He bit back a smile as he followed the drone down the next turning. Jim knew the city like the back of his hand, but he supposed that Bruce had the benefit of knowing the shortcuts.

The city began to peel back, making room for empty lots and abandoned warehouses. Some were still in use - legally or illegally; it was a bit of a mixed bag most of the time - but for the most part, the edges of Gotham didn’t see much activity. Further than that, Jim knew it hesitantly opened up onto a few unhealthy looking fields, and then there was the oddly cheerful  _ ‘Thanks for visiting Gotham!’ _ sign at the city’s limits.

“There!” Tiffany pointed, and Jim slowed his car to a stop. She leaped out before he’d even applied the handbrake.

Joker was slinking along the roadside, trying to stick to the shadows, but as soon as he heard footsteps, he began sprinting. Jim hopped out of his car to join the pursuit, reaching for his belt-

Ah. Joker had gotten rid of his gun earlier. Shit.

The drone buzzed overheard like a furious fly, zipping ahead. Bruce’s voice - no,  _ Batman’s _ voice echoed out of its speakers, growling as it zoomed past.  _ “Don’t let him leave Gotham’s boundaries! The Agency-” _ He lost the rest of the sentence as it was swept away on the wind stirred up by the drone’s boosters.

Jim slowed to a jog, letting Tiffany race ahead of him. Instead, he dropped his hand to the radio at his hip, raising it to reach out to the rest of the GCPD. If they could get here in time…

But it was too late. Joker tripped past the delightful sign, and he landed on his hands and knees with a yelp. Tiffany skidded to a stop just before the sign, bowing her head back; Jim could hear her panting loud and clear from a few feet away. The drone stopped next to her, pointed into the darkness.

_ Click. _ Light flooded from the front of the drone, lighting up the grim scene before them.

Joker, despite having regained his footing, had not made it far. A figure stood before him, an obscenely large hammer resting over its shoulders. The torchlight caught the diamond shape of the belt, the shine of a leather jacket, glinted off of the metal collar around its throat. One hand dropped from the hammer, only to crook a finger at Joker in a clear ‘come hither’ motion.

“Heya, puddin’,” Harley cooed. “Come here, sweetie. Miss me?”

It was only now that Jim saw other shapes in the gloom: the hulking shadow that could only be Bane, something square that must have been a van, and a face that he had hoped he’d never see again.

“Waller,” he growled, stepping up next to Tiffany.

“Careful, Gordon,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Her hands were tucked behind her back calmly as soldiers lined up loosely along the edge of Gotham, guns resting in their hands in varying states of attention. Some were raised and some weren’t, but Jim wasn’t willing to test the reaction times. “Be very,  _ very _ careful.”

The drone zipped over to Jim’s side in an instant.  _ “You broke our deal,” _ Batman’s voice snarled.  _ “You were supposed to stay out of Gotham.” _

“And I have.” Waller shifted her gaze to the drone, as if Bruce stood there instead. “Neither I nor my agents ever set foot in Gotham. I haven’t revealed your identity, and I didn’t chase after your friend.” 

Waller cast a meaningful look at Tiffany. To her credit, Tiffany didn’t falter, though she did frown behind the mask. 

“I think you’ll find, Batman,” Waller continued, “that our deal didn’t say anything about Joker.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” 

Jim looked past Waller. Bane had seized Joker’s shoulders, and he’d started steering him towards the van. No matter how much Joker wriggled and squirmed, Bane’s grip held tight. Harley stalked ahead to hold open the door, a satisfied smirk on her lips. Even Catwoman had appeared from the shadows now, though she didn’t seem happy to be flanking the little group. She looked rigidly ahead, refusing to even glance towards Gotham or the familiar faces lined up before it.

Desperately, Joker turned just enough to look back at Jim and Tiffany. “You’re not gonna let them  _ do _ this, are you?” he asked, half laughing. “Batman? This isn’t- This isn’t justice! You can’t let her get away with this!”

“Sorry, puddin’.” Harley waved Bane ahead, and he stepped into the van with Joker. It creaked under his weight. “Orders are orders! You know, if you behave, it’s not  _ so _ bad.”

If it was possible for the drone to look defeated, Bruce managed it; it sunk a little lower, hovering next to Jim’s shoulder rather than above him.  _ “I’m sorry, Joker. I… I can’t help, not right now.” _

“Right now?” Waller raised an eyebrow. “I think you mean not  _ ever. _ You forget that I own the Pact, Batman. I played nice while I was in Gotham, but if you come after me now, I will not hesitate to break the conditions of our deal.” 

_ “How did you get to him?” _

“Easily.” A smirk crept across Waller’s face, twisting her lips in a snarl. “The same way Joker got out before: Dr. Leland. She has a soft spot for him, and given his attachment to you, well… it was easy to recommend that he be released so he could find you.”

She turned, comfortably putting her back to Gotham so she could walk away. “We’re done here. Time to move out.”

“Batman?” Jim murmured. God, it felt good to just say that name again, but Jim shrugged it off. This wasn’t about him. None of it was. “You got any ideas?”

A crackly sigh came through the speakers. _“I wish I did,_ _Commissioner.”_

Together, next to Tiffany and the drone, Jim watched as Waller packed up, piled into the van, and drove away. He’d never been the biggest fan of Joker, especially not with the way he’d done enough to haunt Bruce months on, but what Waller was doing wasn’t right. It never had been, and it never would be.

Tiffany rubbed at the back of her neck with a huff. “Alright. We’re coming home, Batman.” She looked over at Jim, jerking a thumb back at his car. “You coming?”

“It’s my own damn car,” he grumbled. With one last look at the now empty road, Jim followed her, his brow furrowed deep enough that he was sure he was working new lines into the creases of his face. God, he needed a cigarette. Hopefully, Tiffany wouldn’t mind him smoking in his own car.

* * *

Bruce didn’t move from the Batcomputer for a few long minutes.

Tiffany had folded her drone back down again, and Bruce had gladly let her take it. He needed a minute to himself anyway.

He’d fallen for Joker’s trap. He’d failed to keep Joker out of Waller’s hands. The only thing he’d succeeded at was warning Tiffany and Jim not to cross out of the city before it was too late, and they ended up on Agency turf, too. Really, it was a good thing Bruce hadn’t tried to leave the city since everything had happened; now, he wasn’t sure he would have made it home.

When he finally found the strength to stand and head to the elevator, Alfred was waiting for him. Bruce’s stomach dropped another inch.

“Alfred,” he said quietly, hesitantly, “I can explain. I was just-”

He held up a hand. “It’s alright, Bruce,” Alfred said. There was a gentle smile on his face, and Bruce felt something inside of him unclick. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d needed to see a kind face until then. “I know you were trying to help. I would never fault you for caring for family. After all, that’s how I raised you.”

His shoulders drooped with the release of tension. “I thought I could do something to stop it, but…”

Alfred closed the distance between them and circled his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “I know. Perhaps... it was just how things were meant to be. Waller did sound like she wanted to complete the set, as it were.”

The sight of Joker’s terrified stare flashed through Bruce’s head. He grimaced. Damn it, he still felt responsible, even after so much work to let go of that weight. “No,” Bruce said, firm. “No, that can’t be how it ends. What Waller’s doing is wrong, and I won’t allow it to continue.”

“Bruce…” There was something of a warning in Alfred’s tone. The elevator hummed as it lifted them back up to the manor. “It wouldn’t be smart to provoke her. If you break the terms of the agreement, she’ll be free to do as she pleases, too.”

“All I asked her for was to leave Gotham.” Bruce straightened up as the door opened, letting them out of the tiny space. He began to pace the room in an effort to work off the energy boiling up inside him, desperate for an outlet. “I didn’t make any promises. I had Iman’s leverage, remember?”

When he next turned, he saw Alfred standing there, his hands behind his back and a slight frown on his face. “I do,” he said. “However, I still don’t think it’s wise. You ought to be careful, Bruce.”

“She’s  _ hurting _ people, Alfred.” The injustice of it bubbled up inside Bruce in a familiar way. God, he ached for some kind of action, something productive - that had been the good thing about Batman, he’d been able to make a tangible difference. Now, all he could do was throw money and words at a problem so someone  _ else _ could fix it. 

“I’m aware of that.” Alfred’s frown deepened, and he took a step towards Bruce again, somehow managing to seem stern in that one movement. “However, I also know how dangerous she is, and I don’t want to see you lose everything you’ve worked for in the past few months.  _ I _ don’t want to lose  _ you.” _

Bruce deflated. 

“I…” He paused, gathered himself, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know it’s frustrating,” Alfred said gently, laying a hand on Bruce’s arm, “but you  _ must _ tread carefully if you’re determined to pursue her.” He squeezed Bruce’s elbow, and then let his hand drop. “You should speak to Iman. I’m sure she’ll have some words of advice once she hears the news. First, though, you need to rest.”

“I can’t rest.” Bruce turned away, trying not to appear like a petulant child. “Not right now.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “May I remind you that you’ve been through a great deal tonight, most of which you haven’t explained yet? Where  _ did _ you get that nasty bruise on your cheek?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. He’d almost forgotten about it, truth be told. “Joker,” he admitted. 

He heard a sigh, and when Bruce blinked, he let his eyes remained closed for an extra beat. As the sudden burst of energy began to drain from him, Bruce sunk down onto the nearest couch, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I know, I know,” he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But regardless, what Waller is doing is immoral. Nobody deserves to be trapped in a shock collar and treated like an attack dog.”

“I agree, Bruce. I’m just pointing out that there isn’t much we can do about it when the Agency is untouchable.”

Alfred came to sit down next to him. Just having Alfred present at his side was a relief; the man had always radiated safety and strength to Bruce, and he soaked in that aura now, hoping to find some sort of solution in it. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Bruce dug it out to glance at the screen.

_ Tiffany and I are just heading in. Where are you? _

_ Batcave parlour.  _

_ On our way.  _

“Jim and Tiffany are back,” Bruce said. “Sounds like they’re coming to us.”

“I see.” Alfred waited a moment, and then pushed himself back to his feet. “I think I’ll go and make you all something to eat. I doubt you’ll be heading to bed anytime soon, will you?”

Exhaustion was a thick weight in Bruce’s bones, but sleep was a long way away. He didn’t think he could drift off even if he did settle down. It was the kind of tiredness he was unfortunately familiar with; it had been a constant companion during his time as Batman, keeping him awake even when his body screamed at him to get some rest. “No, probably not,” he admitted with a sigh. 

“Then I’ll be back shortly.” Alfred patted Bruce’s shoulder before he left. 

Bruce didn’t have long to be alone. Tiffany led the way in moments later, still clad in her gear. She jerked a thumb towards the grandfather clock. “I’m gonna go change. Be right back.”

He waved a hand. “Take your time. Alfred’s making food anyway.”

As Tiffany opened up the secret entrance, Jim came to take the seat that Alfred had occupied. He sat closer, though, enough that his knee touched Bruce’s, and once Tiffany was gone, his hand came to rest gently on Bruce’s thigh. He squeezed, just a little, enough to remind Bruce that he was there. 

“Sorry we couldn’t stop him from getting away,” Jim said quietly.

Bruce shifted his hand, resting it over Jim’s. He slotted his fingers into the gaps between Jim’s, simply resting them there. “It’s not your fault. Waller played us.” He shrugged. “All we can do now is figure out where to go from here.”

“That’s not gonna be easy.” 

“I know.” Bruce let out a long, slow exhale as he rubbed his thumb against the side of Jim’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine. You’re the one who took a hit tonight.” A finger tucked under Bruce’s chin, gently tilting his face up. Bruce finally lifted his head to meet Jim’s gaze, and he saw only concern there in the furrows of his brow as he inspected the bruise on Bruce’s cheek. “He got you good, huh?”

Bruce snorted, half amused. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

Jim’s hand dropped again. There was the beginning of a soft smile on his lips, though it was more visible in his eyes. They tended to gentle in a way that was difficult for Bruce to pinpoint, but he knew it when he saw it, and it was most common in moments that lacked speech. Bruce’s heart did an odd little flutter in his chest when he realised he knew those tells intimately enough to notice a smile before it happened.

“What?” Bruce asked, starting to grin, too. “What’re you smiling at?”

“Nothing. Just glad to see you safe.”

Bruce’s fingers curled tighter around Jim’s. “I’m glad to see  _ you _ safe.”

He leaned in to kiss Jim, eager for the touch and reassurance while they were still alone. It was comforting just to feel him there, to know that he was home and he was safe. It soothed the part of Bruce that had been buzzing away ever since he’d first read Joker’s letter earlier that night; finally, he could relax, secure in the knowledge that Jim wasn’t hurt. 

There was a click as the secret entrance opened, and Bruce gently broke away from Jim. Judging by Tiffany’s amused look, she knew exactly what they’d been doing anyway. 

Alfred joined them not long after with a tray of snacks and drinks, and to Bruce’s surprise, he took a seat to join the deliberations. He’d expected Alfred to excuse himself given how firm he’d been about Bruce’s retirement, but given the seriousness of the situation, he supposed Alfred had decided to join the team once again. Bruce knew without a doubt that it was only temporary, both for Alfred and for himself.

Two things quickly became clear: they had no idea what Waller’s next move would be, and they had no way of tracking the Agency. 

They guessed that she had wanted the full set of the Pact for her group. Mr. Freeze was missing and had been for some time - Bruce genuinely had no idea what had happened to him after he’d turned down the temperature when he’d been trapped - so Joker had been the last available piece of the puzzle. 

In the end, Bruce was the one to call it quits for the night. 

Tiffany took her usual guest room; she’d ended up crashing at the manor before when she’d accidentally worked too late down in the Batcave, so knew the way to her own bed. Alfred wasn’t long after her, and Bruce and Jim eventually found their way up to his room, where they tumbled into bed. Bruce was awake long enough to kick off his clothing down to his underwear, and finally, he tucked himself in against Jim’s side and was gone.

* * *

“He got away?”

“He ran right into their arms without realising. If anyone had stepped outside of Gotham…”

“I know.”

Bruce and Iman sat across from each other in his office, nursing cups of coffee as they discussed the previous evening’s events. Despite coming in late after a heavy sleep, Bruce still felt tired, and he knew it was stress; it was the same kind of weight that he’d carried around when he’d worked as Batman, and he hadn’t expected to pick it up again once he’d finally set it down. Shutting himself inside his office, away from the prying eyes of his own staff, had been a relief.

His computer screen was tilted so Iman could also see the press conference that was still ongoing. Jim was leading it, of course, acting as the mouthpiece for the GCPD as he gave the official statement. Subtitles scrolled by along the bottom of the screen, and Bruce occasionally glanced towards them to skim over what was being said. Unfortunately, Joker was too high profile to sweep this under the rug until they had a solution, especially when he’d briefly held one of Gotham’s richest captive.

Iman’s nails tapped lightly at the black screen of her tablet, drumming out a nervous rhythm. Bruce took a long, slow drink of his coffee, relishing the heat of it in his throat. 

“The Batcomputer didn’t pick up any hints about the Agency before, so I doubt it’ll be able to this time either,” he said, lowering his cup back to his desk. “Waller was sneaky. She went through Joker’s therapist. She was the one who let him out the first time around.” 

“I remember.” The tapping abruptly stopped. Iman stared at the screen, watching as Jim silently began to take questions. “Blake messaged this morning to say the whole Agency knows about Joker, but he doesn’t know any other details. They got one of the collars on him.”

Bruce grimaced. He had known that that was coming, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth. “She wanted all of the Pact,” he said. “She can’t get Mr. Freeze, but she has the others now. Why?”

Iman glanced at him. “Why what?”

“Why go to the effort of tracking everyone down?” Bruce rested his elbows on his desk, leaning on them as he thought. “She already had a formidable group. Joker wasn’t a threat, he was safely locked away. Why bother getting hold of him in such an obvious way?”

“Well… what if she wanted you to know?”

Bruce paused, taken aback. Iman was watching him now, frowning, serious. He felt oddly like he was under the microscope, almost like Iman was somehow looking at him in a way that was deeper than just surface level. It was a little unnerving.

“Why would she want me to know?” he asked.

“Maybe it’s a reminder that she doesn’t need to be in Gotham physically to do what she wants,” Iman said. “It’s a warning, Bruce.”

She spoke with such conviction that Bruce didn’t need any further convincing.

He just wasn’t sure what to say in response.

* * *

Iman’s words sat with him, echoing back at Bruce in his mind even when he made it home. He hadn’t seen Jim - he was too busy at the GCPD to make it over, and Bruce certainly didn’t blame him for that - so he decided to take a rare moment to himself.

The evening found him sitting on the patio behind the manor, occupying a chair with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It had been a while since Bruce had had a glass; these days, if he felt like it, it was usually something with dinner or just the one drink with Jim or Alfred or both when they shared a quiet evening together. After all, he had plenty of expensive alcohol sitting around, and while he wasn’t a big drinker, it was nice to have one now and again, particularly when he needed some peace to think.

Maybe it was a little bit indulgent of him, a little bit closer to the stereotypical billionaire persona, to sit on the edge of his own large, beautiful garden with expensive alcohol in hand in the sunset. 

Bruce figured he deserved to give in now and again.

Behind him, the sliding door opened with a quiet noise. There was only one person it could be, so Bruce didn’t stir. Instead, he sipped his glass again and ignored the burn of the alcohol in his throat. 

Alfred took the empty seat next to him, setting down his own drink on the table. It was a taller glass of something, most likely cider; Alfred was fond of some of the alcoholic brands back in England, so Bruce had made sure to keep plenty of it around for the times that Alfred did want one. He was, Bruce had discovered, particularly fond of it during the summertime, when Gotham had its rare days of sunshine. Despite the warm light of the evening, though, there was still a chill in the air as the sun gradually dipped down and out of sight.

“Mind if I join you?” Alfred asked, reaching for his drink.

Bruce inclined his head. “By all means.”

The company was, admittedly, nice. Spending time with Alfred never felt draining. He’d grown up with him around, so it was actually nice to just… sit with him.

“What are you doing out here, Bruce?” Alfred’s chair creaked as he adjusted, leaning back to get comfortable. 

He shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Thought I’d try to clear my head. The past twenty-four hours haven’t exactly been relaxing.”

“Understandably so.”

A beat of silence passed between them as they each sipped their drinks. 

“You’ve come out here to think,” Alfred said, slow and gentle. “What’s on your mind?”

Bruce sighed, idly swirling his glass just to hear the ice clink against the sides. “Joker,” he admitted. “The Agency. The fact that I can’t do much this time around. Not that I regret my retirement.” He cast Alfred a small, but warm, smile. “I don’t, not one bit. I just… wish I could be more helpful.”

“Ah.” Alfred smiled a knowing smile. “So you’ve stumbled upon how I used to feel when you were running around in Gotham.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s quite simple, really.” The bottom of Alfred’s glass tapped on the table as he set it down again. “I was limited in the Batcave. I could only do so much to contribute - I was helping, certainly, but it could be frustrating knowing that I couldn’t physically help. It’s the nature of the job, Bruce, unfortunately. Part of it is just...” Alfred trailed off briefly, gazing out across the garden as he searched for the right words. “Part of it is accepting the risk the team takes, and trusting in their ability to make it home safely.” 

He reached out, resting a hand on Bruce’s forearm comfortingly. “But rest assured, you  _ are _ helping, more than you realise. You already have more at your disposal than I did. A drone of that strength! It’s quite genius, really. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it.”

Bruce chuckled quietly. The weight of Alfred’s hand on his elbow was comforting. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “Imagine the things we could have done if you’d had a drone like hers.”

“Indeed. Ours doesn’t compare, really, does it?”

As Bruce shook his head, he began to smile. It was the first full smile he’d had all day; his cheeks ached from the stretch of it. Alfred had never failed to cheer him up, not once. “Ours worked well enough. Anyway, I always had a second pair of eyes when I was out. Tiffany won’t. She’s only helping the GCPD, not running around fighting crime.”

“And she learned from the best.” Alfred hummed thoughtfully, his smile gentling into something a little more bittersweet. “Lucius would be proud of her.”

“He would,” Bruce agreed, sighing. He wasn’t a religious man or a superstitious one, but Bruce did hope that Lucius somehow knew the good that his daughter was about to bring to the city. Gotham was a much better place already because of her. 

As Alfred’s hand drifted back to his drink, Bruce glanced across at him. “Alfred… thank you.”

“Of course, Bruce.” 

Alfred’s eyes were full of warmth when they met Bruce’s. He raised his glass to offer to Bruce, and he gently tapped his own against it in a quiet toast. As he sipped, Bruce turned his attention back out across the garden again to drink in the fading sunlight. Neither he nor Alfred dared to shatter the peace; they both knew how precious those moments were, and they knew the value of good, quiet company to share it with.

Tomorrow, Bruce knew he would be back at it again, desperately trying to find any hint of the Agency out there in the world. For now, though, he sat, and he drank, and he admired the sunset.


	11. Chapter 11

It was close to a week before Jim and Bruce found the time to have an evening to themselves. Jim had been wrapped up in work with the GCPD - there was just so much to cover after the disaster of Joker’s escape - and he’d watched as Bruce continued to sink deeper into the stress of it all, working himself tighter like a coiled spring. There was, unfortunately, only so much he could do to help over text or call, and it didn’t take long for Jim to snap.

“Come over tomorrow night,” Jim said, his phone at his ear as he sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You could use the break, Bruce.”

It was the fifth late night in a row now, and Jim could definitely feel it. He needed to crash at some point, and he’d started to realise that he slept best when Bruce was on the other side of the bed. He knew for a fact that Bruce hadn’t been sleeping great either - he was too worked up, too focused on trying to find some sort of solution to the Joker problem - so it would be beneficial all around if Bruce took him up on his offer. He happened to know that Bruce slept like the dead when given the chance, and Jim desperately wanted to give him that opportunity.

That, and Jim just really, really wanted to see his partner without work in the way.

_ “That… sounds nice,”  _ Bruce said after a pause.  _ “It’s not a bad idea.” _

“It’s not,” Jim agreed. He finally felt himself smile. Just the thought of seeing Bruce made something click together in his chest.

_ “It had better be a break for you too, though, Jim.” _

Jim bowed his head with a quiet chuckle. “I won’t even cook. I’ll order takeout. You can pick where.”

_ “Well, that’s a first,” _ Bruce teased. There was a shuffle from the other end of the line, cloth against cloth. Bruce was already in bed, probably tossing and turning to get comfortable while they talked. He could picture him if he closed his eyes. Softer now, Bruce added,  _ “You’re that tired?” _

“I’ll be fine.” Jim shrugged it off; he’d had worse work periods. He was more focused on Bruce. Still, he sighed, and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’ve gotta get some sleep. I’m heading in early tomorrow.”

_ “Me, too.” _ Rustling again. Jim imagined him rolling towards the bedside table and reaching for his phone.  _ “What time do you finish?” _

It was a good question, one that Jim didn’t have an answer for. “No idea,” he admitted. “Let yourself in whenever you get off, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Bruce hummed on the other end.  _ “Okay. I love you.” _

Jim closed his eyes as he smiled. Those words from Bruce never failed to make his heart flutter. “Love you, too. Get some rest, Bruce. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

As it happened, they arrived at Jim’s place at around the same time. As he was locking his car, another pulled up outside his house, and Bruce climbed out of it, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Jim was pretty sure he could see Alfred in the driver’s seat, but he only got a fleeting glimpse before Bruce waved and closed the door. 

Jim waited outside the house for him. His chest squeezed tight as Bruce turned, beaming at Jim through the exhaustion plastered over every feature of his face. God, it was amazing to see him at last, but the man looked like he needed a full twenty-four hours of sleep in one sitting. 

“No press this time, huh?” Jim teased as Bruce joined him on the doorstep. 

“There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” Bruce chuckled quietly. Still, almost like he expected reporters to arrive at any second, he stood close to Jim as if to shield him. He hovered by his elbow as he followed him inside. 

Once the door was firmly shut and locked behind them, Jim tugged Bruce close to kiss him, long and slow and sweet. He’d missed him, plain and simple. It felt  _ good _ to hold him again. After a beat, Bruce melted against him, sinking into Jim’s arms with a heavy sigh. He still felt tense - Jim could feel it in the line of his shoulders where one of his hands rested - but he was beginning to let go.

Good. His plan was working.

“Mm,” Bruce hummed. He chased Jim for another kiss, and he gladly indulged him. “What was that for?” he asked when they finally parted, blinking a few times like he needed to clear his head. 

“Because it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen you, and you look dead on your feet.” Jim squeezed his elbow gently. “What do you want for dinner?”

Bruce didn’t even pause to think. “Pizza.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “What kind of pizza?”

“Whatever you like. I didn’t think about it much past the grease.”

Jim couldn’t help laughing. He was relieved to see a smile on Bruce’s face, too. “Alright, that’s fair. How about you go take a shower and get settled in, and I’ll order?”

“That would be amazing,” Bruce sighed. “Thank you. You don’t have to be this sweet, you know.”

“I want to.” Jim gave him a nudge towards the stairs. “Go, shower,” he urged, poking Bruce in the shoulder with a playful grin. “Shoo. I need to figure out what to get on the pizza.”

“Meat,” Bruce supplied helpfully. He paused halfway up the stairs, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Peppers. Corn-”

Jim flapped his hands at Bruce, pleased when it got a laugh out of him. “I said  _ go, _ Bruce.”

He did, in fact, ask for all of the above on their pizza. He filled in the rest from his knowledge of what Bruce liked - more meat; they had similar tastes there - and grabbed them water while he waited for the delivery. After a moment of debate, Jim also grabbed a blanket to drape over the back of the couch, just in case they crashed right there after eating.

It hadn’t arrived by the time Bruce came downstairs, so Jim took the opportunity to have a quick rinse, too. He was waylaid by the delivery kid just as he was on his way back down again, and when he did finally make it back into the living room, it was to the adorable sight of Bruce already having dragged the blanket over himself while he idly flipped through TV channels. Comically, Bruce’s nose twitched at the scent of greasy pizza, and he turned to look at Jim over the back of the couch. 

“That smells amazing,” he said, reaching out to take the box from Jim so he could get settled in. The cardboard scraped as Bruce opened it up, and by the time Jim had tucked himself into Bruce’s side, his partner already had a slice in his hands and well on the way to his mouth. “Thanks,” Bruce added before he took a bite.

Jim helped himself to a slice with a chuckle. “No need to thank me.” He’d just wanted to have dinner with his partner, and if that turned out to be pizza while they shared a blanket on Jim’s couch, he was more than fine with that. It was his favourite thing, really.

They lingered there as they finished off the pizza, but it didn’t take long for the both of them to feel the effects of a busy week and full stomachs. Reluctantly, they peeled themselves away from the comfortable dent they’d made in the couch and forced themselves upstairs, only to clamber into bed as soon as they were there. Bruce’s eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow, but he was awake just enough to tug Jim closer as soon as he’d set his glasses down. 

“Love you,” Bruce mumbled, clumsily pressing a kiss to Jim’s jaw. 

“Love you, too.” Jim found his hand so he could squeeze it. “Get some rest, Bruce. You deserve it.”

“You, too.” Bruce was already trailing off as he spoke, and seconds later, his breathing deepened and evened out as he drifted off to sleep. 

Jim laid there for a moment, basking in the warmth and familiarity of Bruce next to him, and then he let sleep wash him away.

* * *

Jim hadn’t set an alarm for the morning, but he stirred at some point. He ignored the light filtering in through his curtains and rolled over to tuck his nose into Bruce’s shoulder with the goal of going back to sleep.

Predictably, Bruce was still out cold next to him. Jim wasn’t surprised; he’d been exhausted.

Before he dozed off again, Jim smiled against the curve of Bruce’s arm. They both needed this - both the sleep and the time to switch off. His thoughts drifted to breakfast, and he decided that he’d make Bruce pancakes; he had all the ingredients sitting around in his cupboards anyway, and Jim was sure he could scrounge up something to go with them. 

It was that thought - the image of a sunny morning in his kitchen, his arm around Bruce as they made pancake batter and laughed together - that tugged Jim back into sleep. Later, it would be reality, but for now, it simply occupied his dreams.

* * *

Soda fizzed in Bruce’s mouth as he choked back a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering as he forced himself to swallow. On the other side of his desk, Jim grinned at Bruce over his sandwich. 

“Doing okay there?” Jim asked, teasing.

Bruce nodded, coughing a couple times as he cleared his throat. “I’m fine,” he chuckled, reaching for his drink again anyway. Maybe this time, Jim would let him get it down  _ before _ he started telling him stories from his workday. 

They were sharing lunch in Bruce’s office. Jim had dropped by of his own accord, brown paper bags in hand, filled with their usual from their favourite little sandwich place. It had been a more than welcome surprise; the work day kept wearing Bruce down, despite the weeks of silence from the Agency. Nothing had happened, and it was both a relief and terrifying all at the same time. 

This, though, was normal. Bruce had come to appreciate normal.

“Thanks for not killing me this time,” Bruce teased. He bumped his foot against Jim’s under the desk fondly, and smiled when Jim knocked his in return. “You were saying?”

Before Jim could even open his mouth, his office door burst open.

No knock. No pause outside his door. No polite  _ Mr. Wayne? _ from his receptionist.

It was Iman, and she looked  _ terrified. _

Bruce’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He watched as Iman closed the door and made for the two of them, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. “Iman,” he said, slowly, carefully, “what’s wrong?”

“Waller’s gone missing,” she blurted out. Fumbling with her tablet, Iman turned it to show him. “Look. Blake just messaged me, she’s just… vanished.”

“Vanished?” Jim repeated. There was a subtle shift in his demeanour, and Bruce knew that he was now looking at Commissioner Gordon, where mere seconds ago, he’d been Bruce’s partner; the fond sparkle in his eye was tucked away for now, replaced with the cool steel of a detective. “What do you mean?”

With nowhere to sit, Iman placed a hand on the edge of Bruce’s desk to steady herself. “I mean that she’s  _ gone, _ Commissioner. My old partner at the Agency said she went silent today, and… the Pact has gone, too. He thinks she’s taken them with her.”

“Not the other way around?” Bruce asked.

Iman shook her head. “With those shock collars? You know as well as I do that she’s careful with the remote. Besides, some of the agents disappeared with her.” She grimaced, lips twisting with distaste. “They were all vocal Waller supporters, every one of them. They all agreed with what she was doing with the Pact. It sounds to me like they went with her as backup because she’s probably planning something.”

“Shit,” Jim hissed. He dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “I should probably call this in, let the GCPD know-”

“Wait,” Bruce said, holding out a hand. His fingers came to rest on Jim’s sleeve, gently curling into them. “Not yet. Right now, we’re the only three who know. We can control this. If we alert anyone, there’s a chance Waller will make things worse.”

Jim lowered his phone, grimacing. “You’re right.”

Bruce gave his arm a quick, comforting squeeze before he let go. “Come on. We need to get everyone together. We can work this out.” He stood, grabbed his wallet and keys, and began tapping at his phone. He needed Tiffany, and he needed her on alert sooner rather than later.

“Bruce,” Iman said, catching up with him and Jim, “where are we going?”

“The Batcave,” Bruce said simply. He opened the door, holding it for the other two. “We’re going to meet Alfred and Tiffany there, and we’re going to figure out how to handle this.”

* * *

Tiffany was already there when they arrived. She looked up from her workbench with a frown, and when she saw the serious look on Bruce’s face, she silently reached out to stop her music. “What’s wrong?”

“Come here,” Bruce said, nodding to the desk by the Batcomputer. “We’ve got a problem.”

Abandoning her tools, Tiffany trotted up the steps to meet the trio. The elevator pinged across the room; Alfred was joining them, making his way over to the impromptu meeting. Quickly, Tiffany scanned the gathered faces, hoping for some kind of hint, but none was forthcoming. All she could tell was that Bruce looked neutral, Jim was scowling, and Iman seemed like she was about to vibrate right out of her nice suit.

“Bruce,” Alfred said, taking his place next to Tiffany, “whatever is the matter?”

Planting his hands on the table, Bruce leaned forwards onto them to prop himself up. “Waller’s gone missing,” he said. “Along with the Pact and several supporters from the Agency.”

“We don’t know where she’s gone,” Iman murmured. She laid her tablet down, choosing instead to fold her arms tightly across her chest like a shield. “I think she’s planning something. This is unlike her, though, and that makes her unpredictable.”

“What I  _ do _ know is that she’s one vindictive woman.” Jim was so still, so firm. Tiffany had seen him at work before on investigations, but this was different. He looked like a rolling thundercloud, dark and grim. “I’d put my money on her coming back here with her little crew.”

Bruce shot him a look, brows furrowed. “Why, though?”

Alfred cleared his throat to draw his attention. “Bruce, you forced her out of Gotham, and you prevented her from collecting Joker for some time. Batman played against her and won.”

“Batman isn’t there to fight,” Bruce pointed out. “There’s no reason for-”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, and Bruce trailed off. “Then if not Batman, I’m sure Gotham would do just fine,” he replied simply. 

Tiffany felt herself shrink a little. No Batman. Just her and the GCPD against a team of super villains. Fantastic. “You can’t seriously think she’ll come back here,” she said, a nervous laugh bubbling up in her chest before she could stop it. “She won’t gain anything by attacking Gotham or whatever. Maybe she’s just going undercover.”

But Iman shook her head, a sad, knowing smile on her face. “Nobody at the Agency knows where she is.  _ Nobody. _ Waller wouldn’t go undercover, not when she’s the boss. I think it’s safe to say she’s gone rogue, and that makes her far more dangerous.”

“Okay, then maybe she’s not coming here. Maybe she’s just… gone to fight crime with the Pact.”

Tiffany could feel Bruce’s pitying look, and she ignored it. She didn’t need him to see how she was suddenly feeling the pressure. Before this, her work had just been about improving tech, building upon it, and assisting the GCPD. Sure, she’d helped with a few criminal hunts, but she had always been based more in investigative work, not actual crimefighting - and that had never included anyone of Waller’s calibre. The closest she’d ever come was that fight in ACE Chemicals, and she’d had Batman at her side then. He’d been injured, sure, but an injured Batman was still better than none.

This time, she was on her own.

“We can prepare,” Jim said, gentler now, and Tiffany knew that it was because of her. “Iman, when did she go missing?”

“It’s been a couple of days,” she said. “Blake told me this morning.”

Jim nodded, thoughtful, and reached up to rub at his jaw. The rasp of his stubble seemed oddly loud. “Alright. We can get the GCPD on alert, get some feedback if she shows. Tiffany, what do you have that you can use against her?”

Tiffany huffed out a laugh that sounded a little too bitter. “Not much. I’m not supposed to fight. I can’t do much against  _ four _ villains, plus their leader. I’m just one person, and I’m no Batman.”

She hadn’t meant for it to be a stab, but she saw Bruce wince a little. “We can upgrade your tech,” he offered. “You’re the best at it, but we can figure out ways to-”

“I’ll fight.”

Bruce went silent as all eyes turned to Iman. She seemed to have gathered herself; there was still worry lining her face, but there was also a steely, determined glint in her eyes now. Her gaze stayed fixed on Tiffany’s as understanding washed over her.

“We’ll need to make you a suit.”

“I can offer my help,” Alfred said. “It’ll speed things along.”

“What?” Bruce asked, frowning.

Tiffany ignored him. “You’ll need a name too.”

The corner of Iman’s lips tugged up into a smile. “Easy. Batwoman.”

_ “Batwoman?” _ Jim repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“I need help,” Tiffany said, gesturing towards Iman. “I can’t fight the Pact on my own, not even with the GCPD. Batman’s out. If Iman suits up, though, I stand more of a chance.”

She had fully expected Bruce to shoot down the idea, or to at least disapprove of it. To her surprise, Bruce tilted his head a little, thinking. “You know… that could work. As long as you’re okay with it, Iman.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t want to.”

“Then it’s settled.” Tiffany straightened up, and she fixed Bruce with a stare that left no room for argument. “I’ll get started on tech. I can give Batwoman the same stuff Batman had, and more. Is there anything else we need to cover?”

Slowly, Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think so. If you three are set on making the suit, Jim and I can arrange the surveillance part.”

“Sweet.” Tiffany turned on her heel to head back to her bench, already plotting and planning. Distantly, she heard Alfred speaking to Iman about getting her measurements for a suit, and beyond that, there was the soft murmur of Bruce and Jim at the Batcomputer. 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, an excited spark fizzled through Tiffany’s chest at the thought of designing a whole Batsuit. Hers had come a long way, but this was different.

It was closer to what Lucius had done for Bruce, and it was a nice feeling.

* * *

“So,” Jim concluded, rubbing at his temples, “we need everyone to be on the lookout. I don’t care what someone’s usual role is, if they hear anything about this, I need to know.”

Renee sat opposite him in his office, looking troubled. She didn’t quite know the full picture - Jim had chosen not to reveal Batwing or Batwoman; those weren’t his secrets to divulge - but she knew enough. Renee had been there through Jim’s dealings with Waller before, so she already knew how serious her disappearance was without him needing to discuss the finer things. Explaining to the GCPD that the Agency, a group that had often interfered with them, was suddenly without its leader had been important to Jim, though, and after some convincing, Bruce had agreed that it was worth the risk of her hearing about it somehow. 

“And… Batman,” Renee said, raising her eyebrows. “I know you said he’s retired, but is he prepared to help with this?”

“He’s doing his own surveillance,” Jim assured her. Bruce had been tapping away at the Batcomputer as he’d left, customising the flags to better fit the new Waller pattern. Jim really didn’t envy him on that one, considering Waller didn’t currently  _ have _ a new pattern; it was all based off of speculation, and what little they knew about her. “He’ll let us know if he picks up on anything. He’s got people who will fight if needed.”

He wasn’t so much a fan of putting Tiffany on the line. To Jim, she was just a kid, despite being in her early twenties. Granted, she was far more capable than him in a fight, even with the tech that Wayne Enterprises had given the GCPD in recent months, but Jim had already made a promise to himself to look out for her if things came to some kind of battle.

He really hoped they didn’t. He prayed that they were all wrong about Waller’s motivation.

Renee nodded, satisfied. Some of the other officers hadn’t been so happy when they’d learned about Batman’s retirement, but Renee was one of the handful who had accepted it without question. Jim really, really appreciated that about her. “I’ll go pass it along, see if anyone’s noticed anything already.”

“Thanks.” Jim sighed as she stood and left his office, and once the door closed, he buried his face in his hands for just a moment of quiet despair. 

This was fucked. 

* * *

Bruce had expected it to take a while to make the new Batsuit, but he belatedly realised that he shouldn’t have been surprised when it only took a few days. 

Once Alfred had Iman’s measurements, he quickly put together the base part of the suit, the kevlar and padding that was designed to protect Iman underneath the armour. Together, he and Iman layered the more solid pieces on top, while Tiffany wired in all of the tech that made the suits as effective as they were. By the time Bruce came to check in on their progress, Iman was already suited up, flexing her fingers in her gloves to see how they fit.

“Wow,” Bruce whistled. “That’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” Alfred said. He reached out, carefully adjusting something on Iman’s back. “Tiffany, we’ll need another piece here. If Iman twists, it’ll expose her spine too much.”

“Got it.” Tiffany retreated to the workbench.

As Bruce approached, Iman beamed at him. The look suited her, he thought. She and Tiffany were definitely worthy successors. Just seeing her in her own suit - not unlike his own, but still uniquely Iman - was plenty of reassurance. For the first time in weeks, Bruce felt the frantic fear in his chest begin to calm and grow still.

They were prepared.

They could do this.

“It looks amazing,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Great.” Iman seemed to be fascinated by the way it moved with her, almost like it was a part of her. Bruce remembered how that felt, and he knew just how reassuring it was to know that the suit would work  _ with _ him, not accidentally against him. “I feel like I could take on all four of them in this thing.”

“Not quite yet, Iman,” Alfred said, fiddling with the connector on a piece of armour. “Within a few days, perhaps. Though you’ll need some sort of training.”

Iman wrinkled her nose. “I trained with the Agency. I know how to fight.”

“Not with this, you don’t.” Bruce nodded at her, and when Iman gave him a puzzled look, he continued. “The Batsuit. It’s a whole different way of fighting, and the gadgets are just a piece of that.” He glanced at Alfred, who gave him the tiniest of nods after a brief, silent conversation. With permission granted, Bruce added, “I can help train you. Both of you.”

There was a clatter behind him. “Shit, sorry,” Tiffany cursed, scooping up the armour. “Train us?”

“I think what Bruce is trying to say,” Alfred said, “is that he can spar with you both to make sure you’ll be ready for battle.” He lowered his hands, stepping back from Iman to consider his handiwork. “I think it’s a perfect idea. Once the suit is ready, it’ll be a good way to test its capabilities, and it’ll prepare you both for going up against the Pact.”

Tiffany trotted down the steps to join them, handing Alfred the armour. He took it with a quiet murmur of thanks, and came in closer again to fit it in place. “Bruce, no offence, but you’re just one guy,” Tiffany said, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re good, but you’re not  _ the whole Pact _ good.”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” he teased. Tiffany smirked, so Bruce counted it as a win. “No, I won’t be as good as the whole Pact, but I can still put up a fight. Either way, I won’t be training you as me.”

He watched as understanding flitted across Iman’s face. She started to grin. “You’re going to do it as Batman, aren’t you?”

Bruce’s eyes strayed to the glass case housing his suits. He smiled. “If we’re training you to fight villains, you might as well train with an ex-hero who knows their moves.”

* * *

When Jim came home to the manor, it was silent. He wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t been expecting the little team to be bustling around up here, not right now. It was too early for dinner, so there wasn’t even a chance of them being coaxed out by Alfred’s cooking. At least he knew his way around the manor well enough now, he supposed. It meant that he could find the right parlour room, and he now knew the trick to getting into the Batcave.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he was greeted by the sounds of fighting. Jim almost reached for his gun at his hip, only to first realise that he’d left it in the car like he always did on the Wayne grounds, and second that it was…

Batman?

He openly stared as Batman landed in a perfect crouch, only to surge up again in an outright attack against his opponents. Jim immediately recognised Batwing as she neatly sidestepped Bruce’s swing, and he realised that the other armoured figure must have been Batwoman. She spun with a grace that Batman could never have possessed in his much bulkier suit, chasing him with remarkable ease as he turned on his heel to assess the situation.

He didn’t want to admit how good it was to see Bruce as Batman again, even though it would only be fleeting. It was more than a little bit hot, if he was honest with himself.

Carefully, Jim skirted the fight to make it to where Alfred sat, watching from another platform. Naturally, he had a cup of tea with him as he observed, most likely to pick out any faults that the others missed.

“Good evening, Jim,” Alfred said. “Please, take a seat. I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”

“How long have they been at it?” he asked. Jim pulled up a spare chair and sunk down into it gratefully. 

“A few hours. Bruce and I both thought it would be prudent to give them a chance to test their skills.” Alfred paused to take a sip of his tea. His eyes darted back and forth between the trio, though Jim noticed that it mostly lingered on Tiffany and Iman as they closed in on Bruce. “I think they plan on making it a daily ritual of sorts.”

Jim nodded, folding his arms across his chest loosely as he relaxed. “Smart. Doesn’t hurt, I guess.”

“Well, it may leave a few bruises,” Alfred said, lightly playful, “but it will be good for them in the long run. Bruce too, I think.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Indeed.” Alfred set his empty cup on the table behind them with a sigh. “I’m sure you’re aware of how… frustrated Bruce has been over this entire situation. He feels that there isn’t much he can help with, but this is something only he can do.” He waved a hand towards the sparring match. “And there you have it. I’m sure he’ll be feeling much better with this to occupy his afternoons.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, Jim had to admit. Alfred was right, after all. Jim was more than aware of how Bruce had been considering himself close to useless until the actual day of a confrontation with Waller, if there ever was one. His part of the plan was waiting in the Batcave, manning the drone so Tiffany was unencumbered by it; she had even been working on a replacement backpack so she could still fly without the drone under her control. If he was honest, Jim was surprised nobody had thought of this for him sooner.

Together, Tiffany and Iman clashed with Bruce again, and this time they managed to take him to the ground. He didn’t stay there - he shrugged them off with relative ease - but there was a smile on his face when he jumped back to his feet.

“Great work,” he said, eager to praise. Bruce clapped them both on the shoulders as they wandered to the side, where bottles of water awaited them. “Not bad. I think we’ll call it there for today, but tomorrow, we should try some more solo exercises…”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Jim asked Alfred quietly.

Alfred was silent for a moment. He tucked his chin in against his chest, and when he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I think we have much more of a chance now with Bruce as their teacher,” he said slowly. “Iman and Tiffany both show potential, and I’m sure they will improve along with their tech as we implement more. I can only hope that we have enough time to prepare fully for Waller.”

And that was the crux of it, Jim realised. Time. They just needed time.

The trio climbed up the stairs to join them at the Batcomputer platform, smiling and laughing as they caught their breath. Jim’s worries were dashed away as Bruce tugged his cowl off; he would never admit out loud how much he’d missed seeing Bruce in the Batsuit - the last thing he wanted to do was add any additional guilt about his retirement to his already heavy conscience - but Bruce was still a very handsome sight, even with his hair dampened by sweat.

His face lit up with a warm smile when he met Jim’s eyes. “Hey. I didn’t know you’d be home so early.”

Jim shrugged one shoulder, smiling despite himself. “Neither did I. Looks like you guys were having fun.”

Bruce set the cowl down on the table and perched on the edge of it, chuckling. “It was… refreshing. Maybe I should’ve just started working out more instead of moping around.” His hand came to rest over his stomach as it growled. “I forgot how hungry sparring makes you, though. That was exhausting.”

“Well, I think I can rustle up some dinner.” Jim pushed himself to his feet, and even though there were others around, he slipped his hand into Bruce’s gloved one. “You look good, by the way.”

Bruce’s cheeks flushed, even at the lighter compliment. Jim was sure that his meaning made it across.

“I’ll give you a hand with dinner, Jim,” Alfred said behind him. Jim squeezed Bruce’s fingers before letting go. “I think a celebratory family dinner is in order here.”

“Sounds like a plan. Gives these three a chance to clean up anyway.” Jim patted Bruce’s shoulder fondly, finding that he was oddly nostalgic over the touch of the firm armour. “Need a hand with anything before we go?”

“I think we’ve got it.” Bruce smiled at Jim, and then his attention drifted to Iman and Tiffany.

As Jim and Alfred left them, Jim glanced back just once more. Bruce had remained sitting, still fondly watching the duo as they excitedly discussed the day’s events. From what Jim had seen, they were already forming a fluid, easy team, and he could only imagine how much better things would be after just a few more days of training.

Gotham was in very, very good hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I repurpose both Batwing and Batwoman to give to other heroes in the Telltale universe for this fic? Maybe so >:)


	12. Chapter 12

Dinner, for once, was a busy affair in the manor. They had had Tiffany as a frequent guest, but never her and Iman at the same time. 

The pair seemed to have hit it off immediately after the meeting a few days prior. They were already inseparable, and they were going to be a formidable team one day, Jim knew it. He was just glad that they were on the right side of the law. 

Bruce found a moment to steal Jim for a quick kiss in the midst of cooking, while Alfred was out setting the table. They’d broken apart just in time for Alfred’s return, but his amused smile and arched eyebrow meant that he knew exactly what had been happening behind closed doors, and Jim turned back to the pasta with red cheeks. Thankfully, Alfred didn’t comment on it, and he was free to pretend that it had never happened.

This time, both Tiffany and Iman crashed at the manor for the night. Tiffany took her usual room - what Jim was swiftly beginning to think of as just _Tiffany’s room_ \- and Bruce showed Iman to another of the guest rooms. It was late by the time they made it back to their own space, and just a little bit later before they were tucked into bed, showered and fed and still smiling.

“You looked _really_ good earlier,” Jim mumbled against Bruce’s lips as they traded a goodnight kiss. 

Bruce laughed softly. It was hushed in the darkness of their bedroom, and as he scooted closer, his voice lowered again. “Are you trying to tell me you want to sleep with Batman?”

“Did you miss the part where I had a crush on you while I only _knew_ you as Batman?” Jim shot back. He pecked Bruce’s cheek as he settled in, sinking into the comfortable pillows with a chuckle. “I’ve always thought it was hot.”

“Alright, noted. I’ll make time.”

There was something about that tease that seemed _too_ promising. Jim cracked open an eye again, peering at Bruce through the low light. “You’re not actually going to, are you?”

Bruce’s arm settled around his middle, tugging him closer, and Jim went willingly. “I think I can find a way to get everyone out of the Batcave after a training session,” he teased, as if they weren’t in the middle of the most serious situation they’d had since Joker. He was surprised that Bruce was thinking about sex at all.

Then again, he was Bruce Wayne, and sometimes the press _did_ manage to report some facts. One thing that they’d gotten right was that Bruce liked sex.

“Jesus,” Jim laughed, closing his eyes firmly this time. “That won’t be obvious at all when neither of us come back up.”

“It won’t be obvious,” Bruce replied, amused. “I have my ways.” 

* * *

The training became a habit, as Alfred had predicted. Whenever Jim came home from the GCPD, it was to find Bruce in the midst of a sparring match with Tiffany and Iman; sometimes it was individually, sometimes he was against them both. Occasionally, he would team up with one of them to give the other more of a challenge. Despite the fact that he only saw a little of these fights, Jim could already see the improvement in both of them, and it did plenty to bolster his confidence. 

More often than not, Bruce was still in the Batsuit when Jim made it down to the Batcave. Sometimes he only caught the very end of their sessions and he’d find them all talking without their cowls, but most of the time he saw Batman in all his glory again. It was a sight to behold, and it didn’t help when those piercingly white eyes stared at him across the room with a smirk.

And Bruce was right. He did have his ways.

Alfred greeted him in passing as Jim arrived at the manor. “They’ve finished their training for the day,” he said, pausing at the foot of the great central staircase. “I believe they’re busy cleaning up. You won’t have long to wait up here if you don’t want to make the trip downstairs.”

“Thanks, Alfred, but I’ll head down anyway. Might as well say hi.” It wasn’t far, and maybe he’d get a glimpse of Bruce still in the suit. It was an entirely self indulgent thought, of course, but Bruce was well aware of it at this point. “Have a good night.”

“And you, Jim.” 

He bumped into Iman and Tiffany on his way into the parlour. They were just leaving, and the Batcave entrance was still open.

“Heading down?” Iman asked, stepping aside to give him space to tuck into the elevator. “Bruce is still down there. He was checking something out on the Batcomputer. Nothing serious,” she hurried to add when Jim raised his eyebrows, “but he wanted to check out some old files on Waller.”

“Something to do with copying the Pact’s fighting style for us,” Tiffany added. 

“Smart,” Jim said, nodding as he pressed his thumb to the keypad. “I’ll go grab him and make sure he eats. Have a good night, you two.”

A chorus of goodnights followed him as the door slid closed, and then they were quickly lost as he began his descent. Logically, Jim knew that the caves were well below Wayne Manor, but the trip always felt far quicker than it should be. It was still long enough for his thoughts to drift, so when Jim stepped out into the Batcave and didn’t see Bruce immediately, he didn’t actually notice. He peered out into the gloom, squinting into the dark corners, and when he didn’t spot him, he carried on into the Batcave.

It was the distinct lack of colour that caught his eye.

He frowned, turning to face the car platform. Usually, Bruce left the car in its sporty red form now, since he didn’t really use the Batmobile any more. It was just easier and quicker that way.

Except now the Batmobile sat there, looking as glorious as Jim remembered. 

He felt more than heard the shadow move up behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his pulse quickened at the slight puff of breath he could feel. If he listened hard, he could hear the whisper of the cape as it settled. 

God damn it, Bruce had arranged this, hadn’t he?

“Bru-”

“Commissioner Gordon,” Batman growled, “I thought breaking and entering was against the law?”

Jim couldn’t help it - he shivered at the sound of the voice modulator. So that was how they were playing things. Like last time in Bruce’s office, they were playing with the situation again, except this time, Batman was involved, just to indulge Jim. Bruce really was far too good to him.

He turned around, and he found himself almost nose to nose with Batman. He’d never noticed that the Batsuit gave Bruce an extra inch in height until now. 

“I don’t think it counts if it was unlocked,” Jim replied, trying to bite back a smile. He could see one playing at the corners of Bruce’s lips, and he’d always found that his smile was infectious. It was a struggle to hold it down now. 

Somehow, Bruce managed to squash his, and it twisted into a grimace as he stalked closer to Jim. He started backing up before he even realised what he was doing, and he kept going the extra few steps until the Batmobile was at his back. Batman moved in close, crowding Jim against the door of the car, though he left just a little bit of space between the two of them. One gloved hand planted itself on the roof next to Jim’s shoulder, and the cape swept down to fill the space beneath it.

Bruce had absolutely no right to be that hot when he was Batman, Jim decided. It was unfair, really.

“Did I invite you in?” Batman asked, cocking his head. “Because I don’t recall doing so.”

“Then kick me out,” Jim shot back. This was dangerous. He was already surprisingly hard, and no doubt Bruce was more than aware of that. He was fucked.

Batman raked his eyes up and down Jim, nice and slow and indulgent. When he finally made it back to his face, there was a smirk on his lips, and Jim felt another shiver of arousal race across his skin. “I think there are more interesting things we can do, Commissioner.”

All of Jim’s breath came out of him in a rush. He reached up to grasp at Batman’s shoulders, tugging him in for a firm, desperate kiss. Batman yielded immediately, humming against Jim’s lips and flattening him against the side of the Batmobile. One of his hands came to rest against Jim’s side, tucking itself under the flap of his coat so it could ruffle his shirt, and he rocked his hips forwards against Jim’s in a slow, luxurious roll.

“Shit,” Jim gasped, his toes curling in his boots. The armour was unforgivingly firm against his dick, but it was a stark reminder of the fact that this was _Batman_ in his arms.

When the kiss broke, it was almost gentle. It was far more Bruce than Jim was expecting, including the moment he met the blank white eyes of the cowl. “This is okay, right?” Bruce asked, rubbing his thumb in a little circle against Jim’s hip. “We can stop if you’re not in the mood for this tonight.”

“Are you kidding?” Jim laughed breathlessly. “Bruce, I’m ridiculously hard right now. This is fantastic. Please keep going.”

When Bruce chuckled, it was closer to a growl again. He gave Jim a searing kiss, and then used his grip to spin him around to face the Batmobile. Jim bit back a moan as Batman fit himself against his back, grinding against his ass in a slow roll. He couldn’t help wondering if that even did anything for Bruce through all the layers that he was wearing, or if he was doing it entirely for Jim’s benefit. Either way, it was _scorchingly_ hot, and Jim pressed back against him with a quiet curse.

Lips pressed against the crook of Jim’s neck, and he tipped his head the other way to give Batman more room. His hand stayed firmly on his hip, tugging him back into the slow rolls of his hips. Jim’s knees felt like jelly. 

That hand slipped down to palm Jim through his trousers, and his legs almost crumpled underneath him. Jim folded his arms on the roof of the Batmobile so he could rest his full weight against it, fighting the urge to break the rhythm Batman had created - back against the solid shape of him, and forwards into his palm - to just buck against the gauntlet. His breath fogged on the car’s paint as he muffled his noises against his sleeves.

Batman released him for just long enough to remove his gauntlet. It landed on the hood of the car with a solid thunk, and then his hand came back, moving much more nimbly now as he unbuttoned and unzipped Jim’s trousers. “No need to quiet yourself, Commissioner,” Batman murmured, sliding his hand into Jim’s underwear. “Nobody’s going to interrupt us.”

Jim let out a long, slow exhale as his hand made contact with his dick. His fingers curved around it, swiping the slick from the head down to smooth the way. “Lube,” he hissed, “it’s in my wallet.”

“Oh? Coming prepared, Commissioner?” He bit back a whine as Batman’s hand vanished once more so he could search Jim’s pockets. Once he had the little square packet, Batman tucked his wallet back into the correct pocket, and then busied himself with squeezing the lube onto his fingers. 

“Doesn’t hurt to have it around.” Call Jim old-fashioned, but he had started carrying condoms and lube with him now after dating Bruce, just in case. The first touch of Batman’s hand was cold now, but the easy slide more than made up for it. He melted in Batman’s hands, relying on him to keep him upright. 

Batman gently squeezed on the next stroke. “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, thumbing under the ridge of the head, nice and firm. Bruce could be a tease sometimes, but right now he was so _determined,_ with not a single trace of his usual playful attitude there. It was a bizarre shift, one that drew a deliberate line between Bruce and Batman, and it left Jim moaning against his sleeve as Batman thoroughly took him apart. “It’s helping, actually. Smart move, Commissioner.”

“Fuck,” Jim hissed, shivering as Batman picked up the pace. He already knew how Jim liked it best, and he wasn’t pulling any punches; if Batman kept it up, Jim would be coming in no time. “Gonna have to replace it for next time.” 

“Next time?” He tugged Jim back against his chest just to hold him in place as he rocked against him again, and Jim’s head spun at the implication behind it. “Then maybe next time, Commissioner, we can do a little more.”

Jim slapped his palm down against the roof with a groan, desperately arching into Batman’s hold. “Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. He could feel the beginnings of his orgasm tingling in his toes, threatening to wash over him any second. “Fuck, I’m close, don’t stop-”

A breathy, growly moan rumbled against his ear as Batman rolled against him again, and Jim tipped over the edge. He buried his face into the crook of his elbow with a wordless noise and jerked forwards into Batman’s hand, desperately chasing any extra shred of stimulation. His knees quivered when Batman just _kept_ touching, dragging his hand up and down Jim’s dick even after the pleasure had faded into oversensitivity. Jim didn’t push him off until his nerves were roaring at him to stop, and then he simply leaned against the Batmobile, trying to catch his breath.

Batman stayed fitted against his back, trailing kisses along the exposed skin of Jim’s neck. He couldn’t feel anything with the armour in the way, but he was willing to bet that he was rock hard under that suit. 

Jim summoned enough strength to zip himself back up again, and then he turned to face Batman. His lips were red from kissing, and even with so much of his face covered, Jim could see desperation in the way he stared. 

Then, as if remembering their roles, Batman composed himself, and his attention wandered to his messy hand. His gaze flicked back up to Jim, smirking, and then before he realised what was coming, Batman’s tongue flicked against his fingers. Batman hummed, and the artificially lowered sound rattled through Jim all the way down to his bones.

“Jesus,” Jim muttered, yanking him in close to kiss him again.

He didn’t stay there long, though. As much as he wanted to lean back against the Batmobile and just make out, he had plans.

He planted a hand on Batman’s breastplate, urging him back a step. Worry flickered over Batman’s face for a moment - the mask slipped, Batman becoming Bruce for just a beat - but Jim pecked the corner of his mouth and the concern faded away again. Now that he had space, Jim wordlessly sunk to his knees and trailed his hands up the firm, cool armour of the Batsuit. 

“Commissioner,” Batman rumbled, white eyes wide.

“Just returning the favour.” Jim shot a grin up at him. “You mind helping me with the armour?” 

The other gauntlet ended up beside the first, just so Batman wasn’t held back by the thick gloves. His fingers tucked into the groove around a piece of armour, unhooking it with ease. A few others followed and were set down neatly next to the gauntlets, exposing enough of the undersuit that Jim could tug the trousers half down his hips. It didn’t need to go far, after all.

He tugged Batman’s dick out of his underwear and wrapped his fingers around it, already grinning at the way one of his hands snapped back to the roof of the Batmobile for support. Bright white eyes stared down at Jim as he lightly stroked, using the slick that was already there to ease the way. 

“Commissioner,” Batman repeated, more pleading now. His free hand came up to thread into Jim’s hair, but he gently redirected it to his shoulder when Jim raised an eyebrow.

“My turn now,” he replied, teasing. He liked having a hand in his hair while he did this, but it was worth denying him for now just for the low curse that came from above him. If Bruce could play off of his fondness for Batman, Jim could pull out some of Bruce’s favourite tricks, too. 

There was no point in taking things too slow. Logically, Jim knew that the Batcave entrance was locked right now so nobody would walk in on this, but he still didn’t want their absence to be obvious for too long. He closed his eyes as he sunk down on Batman’s cock, delighting in the rumbling moan from overhead. His fingers tightened their grip on Jim’s shoulder, holding just a little too tight as if to keep himself from grabbing at Jim elsewhere.

He didn’t bother to keep it neat, not when he was trying to be quick. Batman - Bruce now; his demeanor as Batman was gone, lost in the way he panted Jim’s name instead of his title - didn’t seem to care either, given the way he kept holding back little rocks of his hips and rhythmically tightened his hold on Jim’s shirt.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Bruce gasped. He jerked forwards and Jim rolled with the movement easily, carefully avoiding his gag reflex. 

His free hand slid up to meet Bruce’s on his shoulder, and Bruce grabbed at it like a lifeline, squeezing tight. This time, Jim guided it up to his hair, relishing the whine that slipped out from between Bruce’s teeth as his fingers tangled in. As always, Bruce simply held without tugging or pulling, and Jim was grateful for that.

It didn’t stop him from flexing his grip, though. Bruce hunched over him, his fingers shifting against Jim’s scalp as he braced himself against the roof of the Batmobile. “Jim,” he breathed, the sound distorted from the cowl, “Jim, I’m close-”

Jim had been stroking what he couldn’t reach with his mouth, and he sped up now, jacking him off a little quicker. Bruce to cut himself off with a gasp, and seconds later Jim tasted the bitter splash of come on his tongue. He hummed as he sealed his lips around him, easing off to gentler touches as Bruce slowly rolled his hips forwards once, twice more. 

Bruce was breathing heavily by the time Jim pulled off of him. Carefully, Jim tugged the lower half of Bruce’s suit back up again, but he left the pile of armour for Bruce to figure out once he was coherent. He pushed himself back up to his feet, and his hands found Bruce’s jaw, curving to rest against both skin and the cowl. He was grinning far too much for a kiss, but Jim pulled him in for a peck anyway, and found himself eased back against the car once again.

“Still alive in there?” Jim chuckled, tapping lightly on the side of the cowl.

Bruce puffed out a soft laugh. “Recovering,” he said. He reached up, slotting his hands into the right spots to pull the cowl off. Bright blue eyes met Jim’s again, not blank white. Bruce’s hair had been pressed flat by the mask, but he still looked just as stunning as ever. It wasn’t fair that he got to come out of that looking almost - _almost_ \- unruffled. “That was…”

“Hot,” Jim supplied. “My legs feel like jelly, Bruce. I wasn’t expecting this today.”

A sly smile crept across Bruce’s lips, just as his arms settled around Jim’s middle. “I thought it would be a good time. Everyone was leaving anyway, I figured it was a safe bet that you’d come down here for me.”

“Yeah, to grab you for _dinner.”_

Bruce laughed, and Jim dissolved into giggles with him. “I didn’t even notice the time,” Bruce admitted, still grinning. “Give me a minute to get out of this, and we can head upstairs.”

Jim stayed in place against the Batmobile as Bruce peeled himself away to reattach the armour pieces. Idly, he wondered how Bruce knew where each bit went; they were all different, but it was obvious that they only had the one spot, and somehow Bruce picked them out in the correct order to hook them back into place. It was impressive, though Jim supposed Bruce _had_ to know how to put the suit together. It was just one giant puzzle.

Once Bruce was undressed, though, they didn’t head upstairs right away. Jim caught him glancing at the bathroom tucked into the corner of the Batcave - complete with its own showers, of course - and Jim wordlessly tugged him over so they could clean up before dinner.

* * *

Tiffany practically vibrated as she waited for Bruce to come downstairs. She was at the Batcomputer platform, and behind her on the table, various bits of tech were scattered in piles that made sense only to her. In the centre of it all, there was a remote, not unlike the one Waller held in the old Batsuit feed she had up on screen. She’d had the idea a few days ago, but she’d only started working on it now, while Iman couldn’t make it for the day anyway.

As soon as Bruce arrived, Tiffany spun in the chair, grinning. “Bruce, I think I’ve got it.”

He seemed amused as he approached, smiling encouragingly, politely. “You’ve got what?”

She scooped up the remote, wiggling it between her fingers. “This.”

“Alright, I’m listening.” Bruce came to lean against the table, peering at it. So far, it was relatively crude; Tiffany hadn’t worked on it very much yet beyond getting the basics right, and there wasn’t really a way to test it anyway. 

She tossed it to Bruce. He caught it easily, turning it over in his hands to examine it. “It’s a remote,” Tiffany explained, hopping up onto the side of the table. “I was looking through the footage of your fight with the Pact, and I saw that you had Waller’s remote at one point. I know she got a replacement halfway through, but she’s not likely to have a bunch of those around this time, is she?”

“... No, probably not,” Bruce admitted. He looked up at the Batcomputer, frowning at the frozen image of Waller’s controller. 

Grinning, Tiffany continued. “So, I could try making something to hack it. It doesn’t even matter if she gets thrown a replacement if I can take back control every time.” She nodded towards the device in Bruce’s hands. “That’s what I’m working on there.”

Bruce stared down at it, struck silent by the revelation. Tiffany couldn’t help wondering if making something like that had ever occurred to him. Judging by the awe on his face, probably not. 

“This could change the whole fight,” Bruce said quietly, turning it over to examine every inch. 

“It’s not perfect,” Tiffany admitted, “and I won’t know if it works until we’re there, but… if I can at least switch off Catwoman’s collar, that’s someone else who’ll fight in our corner.”

“She would definitely help.” Bruce lowered the remote back to the table carefully, almost like he was afraid of breaking it. “There’s no way she’d help Waller if she had a choice. The others, though…”

Tiffany shifted uncomfortably. “That’s why _I’ll_ have control of the collars. If they’re gonna be a problem, I can still take them down without any casualties.”

Distantly, Tiffany wondered what her father would think about this. Would he be pleased with Tiffany’s discovery, proud that she had figured out a way to end the fight before it had even begun? Or would he disapprove of using Waller’s own tools on her soldiers? 

She desperately hoped it was the former. Tiffany didn’t want to use the shock collars against them if she didn’t have to, but she had a terrible feeling that Harley, Bane, and Joker probably wouldn’t leave her much choice. If it came down to them or her friends, Tiffany knew what she would do. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind.

“I can try to make Iman one too if there’s time,” Tiffany added. “I’d make you one, but you wouldn’t be in range.”

Bruce looked off to the side for a second, clearly warring with himself over something. His shoulders sagged as it seemed to resolve itself without Tiffany needing to ask what was wrong. “If you have time, could you make a third?” he asked. “Odds are, Jim will end up out there with you, and I…”

“I’ll try to make time,” Tiffany said firmly. Of course Bruce wanted Jim to have one; he might have more experience on the streets than both her and Iman put together, but he was still just a cop, not a masked hero. He was limited to whatever the GCPD had available. “I’ll make his next. But… just remember that I don’t know if they’ll work. I don’t have a collar we can test them on.”

“I know.” Bruce bowed his head. “I know. But it would make me feel better if he had access to one in the event that they do work.”

When Bruce looked up, Tiffany offered him a little smile. She understood. She felt so much better knowing about all the tech she had on her side, so she could imagine how Bruce felt knowing that Jim _didn’t_ have all of that on his belt. He was a damn good cop, but there was only so much he could do against four - three if they rescued Catwoman - villains.

“I get it,” she promised. 

“Thank you.” Bruce seemed to revive himself again, the melancholy slipping away to be replaced by a brighter, more confident smile. “You’re smart, Tiffany. If anyone can make those remotes work, it’s you. If you need help, though, I’m more than happy to do what I can.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” With the spell broken, Tiffany waved him off with a grin, bending over her work again. “I’ve got it. To be honest, I can probably find something to test it with.”

“Help yourself to anything from the arsenal.” Bruce gestured across the Batcave, towards the shelves that housed all of his old equipment. Tiffany followed the line of his hand, lingering on some of the tech that she knew was supposed to work similarly to the shock collars. If she could maybe get the remotes to hack that…

Tiffany shot him a thumb’s up. “Thanks, Bruce. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Let me know how it goes.” Bruce started for the elevator, only to stop and turn to face her again. “You know, I actually came down here to offer lunch. I haven’t seen you come up since breakfast, and I’m about to make something anyway.”

Tiffany’s fingers hovered over the volume control for her music. “Sure! Thanks, Bruce!”

Once he was gone, Tiffany turned it up to full blast and got to work.

* * *

They were mid sparring match when the Batcomputer set off an alert.

It was Bruce against Tiffany and Iman, and this time they were putting up a damn good fight. They had made leaps and bounds of progress over the past couple of weeks, graduating from being able to down Bruce occasionally to regularly making him sweat. Even now, as they advanced on him, he knew they had the upper hand; Tiffany had made it a habit to keep any suit adjustments secret to make it more realistic, and when he was limited to a certain villain’s fighting style, there was only so much he could do.

It was encouraging. He didn’t mind a few bruises if it meant they won. 

Iman rushed him, dragging him to the floor with a well aimed tackle. Bruce grunted as he hit the ground, briefly stunned by it. Across the Batcave, Alfred clapped politely before rattling off a few pointers, and Jim chuckled at the sight of Batman sprawled out in the middle of a brawl.

There was a beeping sound, and then they were all bathed in light. Bruce propped himself up on his elbows, peering up at the wide Batcomputer monitor.

His heart sank.

_Incident taking place in city centre._   
_Harley Quinn, Bane, Catwoman, Joker sighted. Gunmen sighted._   
_Placing Wayne Enterprises under lockdown._   
_Placing Wayne Manor security systems on high alert._

Slowly, Bruce pulled himself to his feet. “You two need to go,” he said quietly. 

Iman was still, staring up at the screen, but startled when Tiffany clapped her shoulder. “Let’s go, Batwoman,” she said. She was already a whirlwind of movement, rushing up to the desk to grab her remote - finished, though still not polished, and in the end, it was the only one of its kind - and she was at the car exit before Iman had even taken a step. 

“I should go, too,” Jim said. He seemed so much more unfazed. The words alone made Bruce’s stomach swoop and fill with the wrong kind of butterflies; he felt suddenly ill at the thought of Jim going up against the Pact. He swallowed hard in an effort to squash all of that down, desperate to keep a neutral mask. Showing his nerves wouldn’t help. “I need to get in contact with the GCPD. I should be there.”

As Iman gathered herself enough to join Tiffany, Bruce mounted the steps to the Batcomputer, where Alfred and Jim had been watching. He removed the cowl and tossed it onto the table carelessly. He regretted it the second it skidded across the surface, well aware that he was showing the cracks in his armour, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be that bothered. 

Alfred and Jim probably saw right through him anyway. They always did. They knew him best.

Jim met him halfway when Bruce tugged him into a tight hug. Bruce buried his nose in the crook of Jim’s neck, inhaling his scent - faded cigarette smoke, cologne, and something that was just Jim himself. “Be careful,” he murmured, soft enough just for them.

A hand skated up to the back of his neck, the one part that wasn’t hidden beneath the Batsuit, and squeezed. “Of course,” Jim whispered back. 

There was so much more that Bruce wanted to say, but there wasn’t time. He’d never realised how quickly it slipped away when there was some kind of problem in the city; it just dripped away like grains of sand in an hourglass. The words were all twisted together in his head anyway, so Bruce satisfied himself with a fierce kiss - never mind the onlookers, he didn’t care - and a murmured, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Jim pecked the corner of his mouth once more, and then he drew back, all business again. “Batwing, Batwoman - you guys need a ride there?”

“We’re good.” Iman gave him a thumb’s up. “Batwing’s flying ahead, and I’ll grapple. We’ll meet you there, Commissioner.”

Wings snapped out of Tiffany’s jetpack, exposing thrusters that already started to glow. “I’ll leave the door open for the drone, Bruce. I’m switching my earpiece on now, guys; join the usual channel when you can. That goes for you too, Jim.”

Tiffany took off without another word, racing up the ramp that the Batmobile used to take. On the Batcomputer, a channel popped up, listing _Batwing_ underneath it. There were no audio waves just yet, but the signal was strong.

She was already the natural leader of their little team, Bruce noticed.

As Iman grappled out through the same exit, _Batwoman_ joined the channel. Bruce’s heart squeezed when _Commissioner Gordon_ appeared beneath. The elevator doors closed over Jim, and he knew that would be the last he saw of him for a few hours.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. 

Alfred was watching him carefully. “I know you’re worried, Bruce,” he said quietly, “but they need you.”

The chair before the Batcomputer was empty, waiting. Tiffany’s drone had already unfolded itself, and it hummed patiently next to the table. The controls were on another screen, along with spaces that would wait for data: video, audio, anything else it picked up. 

_“Batman? You there?”_

Tiffany. 

Bruce took the few steps to the computer, and sunk down into the chair. He tapped the button to open the mic. 

_Batman_ joined the channel. It gave him a thrill to be back in the field, even in this distant, detached way.

“I’m here. Sending out the drone now.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last full chapter; number 15 is the epilogue! You can find me on tumblr @capedcommissioner!
> 
> As always, do not interact if you ship incest. Your comments will be deleted.

Tiffany was first on the scene, simply because of her jetpack. She knew that Iman wouldn’t be far behind, and Jim would be bringing up the rear thanks to traffic. There were already red and blue flashing lights below from scattered GCPD cars, but she couldn’t see any officers amongst the carnage in Gotham’s main square. 

There, in the middle of the ruins, were four figures: the Pact.

Bane was, predictably, holding something over his head as a warning - a car, Tiffany realised. Next to him, hammer over her shoulder, was Harley; Tiffany could hear her delighted laugh even from high up in the air. Joker’s cackle echoed alongside it, delighted and free, and the sound sent a chill down her spine as she spotted him. He looked just like he had when he’d decided to work alongside Batman, despite Bruce’s actual wishes, only now he was amongst a group of other villains; it was a cruel twist on the costume he’d created, another way to ruin what had driven Bruce in the first place. Tiffany felt a pang of sympathetic anger.

And then there was Catwoman. She stood off to the side, her whip trailing along the ground next to her feet, but otherwise she didn’t seem as involved. Where the other three taunted the GCPD, she looked away, standing back to let them take the lead.

Perfect.

A shadow swept up onto a roof next to her. As the fluttering cape settled, Batwoman peered down over the edge, her expression unreadable from behind the cowl. _“Everyone’s there,”_ she said, her voice crackling in through the earpiece; Iman was too far for Tiffany to hear her naturally, especially with the hum of her jetpack and the cacophony from down below. _“What’s the plan, Batwing?”_

Tiffany’s fingers danced over the remote at her belt. She twisted the dial on the side, one eye on the screen as she fought to find the collars' frequency. “Get in close enough to distract them, and I’ll see if the remote works. If it does, I’m gonna try and get Catwoman on our side ASAP. We need to even the numbers. Commissioner, you think you can pass that along to the GCPD?”

_“On it, Batwing.”_

“Catwoman looks reluctant,” Tiffany continued, “so I’m gonna get her attention first. The sooner she’s on our side, the better. Everyone else, keep the Pact busy.”

The line on Tiffany's screen steadied, and her heart jumped; that was, at least, proof of the concept, evidence that she had found the correct signal at the very least. All that remained was to test it. There was the snap of a grapple as Batwoman swung her way down to the streets. She landed a short distance away, and within seconds, Harley had spotted her. Tiffany winced as she shouted loud enough to be heard both with her own ears and through Batwoman’s comms.

“Who are _you_ supposed to be?” she spat.

 _“Batwoman,”_ Iman said calmly. _“You all need to leave. You made your deal with Batman.”_

Tiffany couldn’t fault her for trying, but Harley’s laugh said it all.

 _“I’m on the scene,”_ Jim said. _“I guess we’ll distract Bane, but I don’t like our odds.”_

 _“I can take him,”_ Bruce said over the comms. His voice was already the familiar low growl of Batman; he must have switched on his voice mod. It was good to hear, soothing in this instance. _“I have tools I can work with.”_

Jim chuckled without humour. _“No offence, Batman, but a drone isn’t gonna do much against him. We’ll try to keep him busy while you take down numbers. Just don’t take too long.”_

 _“Only if you’re sure, Commissioner.”_ There was a whirr to Tiffany’s left, and her heart leaped when she saw her drone buzzing in the air next to her. The camera pointed down at the ground, surveying the scene below. _“Then Joker’s mine. That leaves you free to rescue Catwoman, Batwing.”_

“Alright.” Tiffany took a deep breath, and then nodded once. “Go.”

The drone zipped down towards the ground in a startling dive, and Tiffany tucked in her limbs as she took off after it. Distantly, she heard the pop of gunshots and Bane’s answering roar as he turned towards the GCPD. She saw the blur of Harley’s hammer as Batwoman danced away, drawing her further away from the security of the destroyed square and her teammates. Joker shrieked as the drone buzzed over his head; there was a plink of metal on metal as a Jokerang bounced off of the drone’s armour.

And then there was Catwoman, scowling, uncertain of where to go.

Tiffany dropped in front of her, fists raised as Catwoman lifted her whip.

“Wait,” Tiffany said, unfolding her hands in a gesture of peace. “We can help you.”

She watched as Catwoman stared her down, drinking in the armoured suit, the bat symbols emblazoned across it. Her snarl faded as she realised just who Tiffany was allied to. Her shoulders dipped a little, some of the tension releasing, despite the battle raging behind them. At the sound of another flurry of gunfire, Tiffany itched to turn and see, to _help,_ but she didn’t want to break the delicate balance here right now.

Catwoman seemed hopeful, but Tiffany didn’t want to give her an opening.

“Where’s Bats?” she asked, head cocked.

“He’s with us,” Tiffany said evasively, “just not on the field.” 

“Hm. Cagey, okay.” Catwoman’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you can help me?”

“Your collar.” Tiffany laid her hand over the remote. “I can-”

Tiffany cut herself off as Catwoman hissed between her teeth, shivering as the collar lit up. As soon as it went dark again, Catwoman lunged for her, claws bared, forcing Tiffany to dance backwards.

So Waller was close, then. That was good to know.

“You can’t help me,” Catwoman snarled, swiping after Tiffany. Her claws missed by a bare few inches. “I’ve _tried_ to get rid of this thing. The only way to make it stop is to _listen_ to her, and right now she wants me to fight.”

“It’s _not_ the only way, I promise.” Tiffany deflected another blow, though she was surprised by the strength behind it. It knocked her back a step, forcing her to find her balance again in her heavy boots. “Catwoman, _stop._ Just let me help you, I can stop your collar-”

Her eyes narrowed as Tiffany danced away. “I told you, nothing works. You can’t- _ah!”_ Catwoman’s hands flew up to her neck as the collar sparked again, longer this time. She dropped to one knee, crying out again as it just _kept going._ Her whip fell to the ground, forgotten in the midst of her pain.

Tiffany worked on autopilot. She grabbed the remote from her belt and pressed the button.

The collar stopped. Catwoman lunged for her again.

“Wait!” Tiffany boosted herself into the air, yanking her feet out of Catwoman’s reach. “Stop, it worked!”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Catwoman hissed. 

“The collar!” Excitement bubbled up in Tiffany’s chest - it worked, it _worked_ \- but she tried to keep her cool. “It won’t shock you! Waller can’t interfere!”

Finally, Catwoman lowered her claws. She still seemed wary, but when she bent down to pick up her whip, she simply wound it back into a loop again. Tiffany risked coming a little closer to the ground again. “You’re sure?” she asked after a moment, cool and yet somehow still hesitant.

Tiffany cocked her head and raised the remote. “Do you want me to try?”

Catwoman shuddered. “No, of course I don’t.” She folded her arms, raising her eyebrows. “Alright, so I guess I owe you. Clearly you’re working with Bats, so what do you need me to do?”

Their bubble popped. The sounds of the fighting filtered back in as Tiffany looked beyond Catwoman, out to the others. So far, the GCPD was doing a great job of bouncing Bane back and forth between them, pulling him one way and then the other, though Tiffany wasn’t sure how long that would last. Bruce was acting as more of an annoyance to Joker than anything else, but it was working to distract him for now.

Iman was doing great on her own, but she and Harley seemed to be at a stalemate. She could dodge the hammer, but she didn’t have anything to disarm her.

“Help Batwoman,” Tiffany said, jerking her head towards the pair. “I’m going to bring Joker down.”

“And once we’re done here, I’m free?”

It didn’t sit right with Tiffany to let Catwoman go, not when she was a renowned thief, but the Pact was more than enough punishment. She wasn’t sure Bruce knew what to do with her anyway, so Tiffany just nodded. “We’ll remove the collar and you can leave,” she promised. “Just don’t give us any reason to arrest you.”

“I’m not staying in Gotham after this,” she scoffed. “You can keep it.”

Catwoman turned with a flick of her hand, and then took off towards Batwoman. Tiffany heard the crack of her whip, and saw the way it stopped Harley’s next swing in its tracks. There was a furious screech, and then the three joined in battle once more.

The drone zoomed past Tiffany’s ear, and she took off after it.

* * *

Bruce swooped and dived, twisted and turned, all to keep Joker on the tips of his toes. He knew that it was angering him, but that was the entire point: keep him distracted so the others could do the arresting. He couldn’t exactly do much from the drone, after all.

Still, Bruce kept one camera trained on the GCPD. He’d spotted Jim earlier when he’d arrived, but so far, everyone was safe.

“Come _down_ here!” Joker spat. “You’re not playing _fair,_ Batman!”

“I don’t have to play fair,” Bruce replied coolly. “You can still stop, Joker. You don’t have to work for Waller.”

“Yes - I - _do!”_ Joker punctuated each word with a jump for the drone, and Bruce neatly lifted it out of the way every time. “You just don’t _get_ it, Brucie, you _never_ have!”

It was an unnerving fight. Bruce wasn’t sure yet how much he liked manning the drone; he’d hoped it would make him feel more useful since he could no longer go out into the field, but so far it had only frustrated him with its limitations. Given time, he was sure that he and Tiffany would come up with new designs and tools that would help, though Bruce admittedly wasn’t sure what else they could add that would be useful, or how much he actually wanted to pilot it.

Either way, it was too late now. There was no point in lingering over it while there were more important things to worry about.

He lifted the drone up higher and hovered there, watching as Joker missed again. “Enough, Joker. Tell me where Waller is, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

_“No!”_

“Stand _down,_ Joker.”

Tiffany landed behind him, already reaching for a set of handcuffs from her belt. Bruce stayed carefully away, watching as Joker turned on his heel, his fingers twitching for a Jokerang; he couldn’t do much, no, but he could definitely get in the way if Joker tried to pull anything. The drone could be a shield, if nothing else.

“I’ve taken over your shock collar,” Tiffany said. “Come quietly, and you won’t get hurt.”

Joker laughed, sharp and bitter. “And make _her_ angry? Let _Batman_ get away with his _injustice?”_

Bruce swerved the drone around to Tiffany’s side and carefully focused on Joker’s face. There was a level of anger there that he had seen only once before: his fury at ACE Chemicals when he had first seen him again. It was a hatred strong enough that Bruce felt it all the way back at Wayne Manor, through the camera lens.

Tiffany sighed. “Okay, so we’re doing this. Batman, go help the GCPD.”

“Batman _stays here,”_ Joker hissed. “We have _unfinished business.”_

For a moment, Bruce agreed with him - Joker was a villain of _his_ making, _he’d_ caused all of this, it was _his_ responsibility - and then… the fight simply drained out of him. 

No, this wasn’t Batman’s fight, not anymore. 

“Our business finished long ago,” Bruce replied, slow and even, as he turned the drone towards the great, hulking shadow of Bane. “I told you that we were done, and I mean it. He’s all yours, Batwing.”

 _“No,_ we are _not_ done- Hey! Get _off_ of me!”

Bruce didn’t look back as he steered the drone away. Tiffany would handle it just fine on her own - she already had been for months. She was Gotham’s protector now, her and Batwoman combined. Together, they would do more than Batman ever had, and Gotham would be a much, much safer place because of it; it would be harder for villains to get the drop on the the city’s hero if there were two of them. 

And, finally, it meant that Bruce could put the idea of Batman to bed. He could be Bruce Wayne.

He could still help, just like he was now, but he could see real proof now that he was no longer required in the field. His lingering worries about the fate of Gotham without someone to protect it just seemed silly now. Bruce had never doubted Tiffany, but he’d always carried a sense of obligation that had been too hard to shake until now.

After tonight, though, once this was done, he could truly retire, safe in the knowledge that the city was in very capable hands. It was that thought that steeled him for the long evening ahead, urging him on towards the GCPD.

* * *

Jim wondered if he had maybe bitten off more than he could chew with Bane.

The GCPD had sheer numbers on him, sure, but the man just seemed to shrug off bullets whether they were rubber or metal, like they were nothing. Every time they abandoned a barricade of cop cars, it was just more ammunition for Bane to destroy the next shelter with. There were far too many smoking shells of cars for Jim’s liking, but while the fire department was on standby just a few blocks away, Jim couldn’t in good conscience call them in when there was still an active scene. 

They were at a stalemate, though. So far, Bane hadn’t hurt anyone, but it was only a matter of time before he did.

Batwoman was busy.

Batwing was in the process of apprehending the Joker.

Batman wasn’t physically _here,_ and he never would be.

Hell, they hadn’t even made any real progress. Jim had spotted Catwoman sprinting over to help with Harley, but so far Quinn was holding her own against her and Batwoman, so really, the Pact hadn’t lost anyone so far. If they didn’t get help with Bane soon, though, Jim knew they were about to start seeing some casualties. 

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Bane!” he yelled, peering over the hood of the car he was crouched behind, “enough is enough!”

A chill ran down Jim’s spine at the sound of Bane’s casual, relaxed laugh. “Batman can’t help you now. This is _our_ city.”

He lifted another car without breaking a sweat, and it sailed through the air, and Jim was amongst the cops that scrambled for new cover. Renee landed beside him with a grunt, sweat streaking down from her temples as she caught her breath. This time, behind them, there was a cry, and Jim wished he knew who it was.

“I need help,” he snapped into his earpiece. 

No reply. Distantly, he could hear Iman’s shouts as she battled, and Tiffany was silent as she struggled to pin Joker down enough to cuff him.

Silence.

Shit. They needed help, more manpower and a rescue for whoever was injured, and that meant signalling the fire department. That meant putting more innocent lives at risk.

Jim stood up.

Bane’s attention snapped to him like a lion spotting an antelope. 

He stepped out from behind the car, ignoring Renee’s hiss of his name. His palms were slippery with sweat, but Jim tightened his grip on his gun as he raised it to point at Bane. It was useless, they both knew it - Bane smirked, slow and satisfied - but Jim only had one thing on his mind: distraction.

It was what Tiffany had asked him to do, and he was fulfilling his role. Jim just wasn’t willing to sacrifice the GCPD for it.

“I said,” he growled, _“enough,_ Bane.”

Bane’s smile widened. “And I said _no.”_

Jim’s gamble had been for a specific purpose: draw Bane away from the rest of the GCPD. For a moment, as Bane scooped up another car, Jim thought he’d won.

And then it soared towards Renee.

Jim forgot how to breathe.

A blur flew past him, snatched Renee from the firing line, and dragged her away just before the car crashed down to Earth once more. For a heartstopping moment, Jim thought Bruce had actually made an appearance, but as the cape settled, he realised that it was Batwoman. Her arm was still looped around Renee’s waist in a way that seemed far too familiar for what should be strangers, but Jim decided not to question it right now.

There was a roar from behind him, like the sound of tumbling rocks. He spun on his heel again, and there was Bane, arched in pain as electricity sparked along the collar.

Tiffany’s drone hovered nearby, a line connecting it to the circle of metal.

Bruce.

 _“He was about to grab you while you were distracted,”_ Bruce said through Jim’s earpiece. Jim could hear the slight quiver of fear in Bruce’s voice, even as neatly controlled as it was, and it made Jim’s chest tighten in sympathy. _“I-”_

“Thank you,” Jim breathed. He knew as well as Bruce did that he would’ve been a goner if Bane had gotten to him. 

The wire detached, snaking back into the drone as Bruce lifted it out of reach. Bane remained hunched, eyes blazing with anger as he sought out a new target. He landed on Batwoman and Renee, still huddled together - they had disentangled now, though Batwoman still had a steadying hand on her shoulder as she turned to stare right back at Bane fearlessly. It was impressive for someone who hadn’t been out like this before. 

Jim wasn’t going to give Bane a chance. He snapped the muzzle of his gun back up towards him, and, ignoring Bane’s sneer, he growled, “Don’t move. We can shock you again.”

“You think that that will keep me down?” Bane laughed as he straightened up, shaking out his arms before he curled his fingers into fists. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit inconvenienced. “You are _wrong.”_

Batwoman stepped up beside Jim, her head held high. “You’re cornered, Bane. We don’t want to shock you again, but we will.”

 _“I’m not sure that I can do it just yet,”_ Bruce said quietly in Jim’s ear. _“It needs time to recharge. You’ll have to bluff until Tiffany joins you.”_

Subtly, Jim glanced over at Harley and Catwoman out of the corners of his eyes. They seemed evenly matched, but Tiffany was sprinting over now, having left a cuffed Joker sitting miserably by an overturned bench. He wriggled and squirmed, but he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Jim could safely count him out of the fight.

Two to go.

* * *

Catwoman and Harley traded blows like it was nothing, darting back and forth with an ease that Tiffany envied; there was no way she could match that in her bulky backpack and armour, but she still favoured the security of it over movement. Dodging hits didn’t matter as long as she could take it and stay standing.

Harley had dropped her hammer at some point, and it lay by her feet as the two of them danced over it. As Tiffany watched, still too far away, too damn far, Harley neatly rolled under Catwoman’s claws and scooped it up on her way. Her momentum followed her into a swing that carried Catwoman off of her feet, sending her sailing across the grass until she landed a few feet away. She laid there, groaning and trying to weakly push herself up onto her hands and knees.

“Ha!” Harley straightened up, resting the handle of her hammer against her shoulder. _“That’s_ what you get for fightin’ back, kitty. Waller’s gonna have a field day with you when we’re done here. You’re in _trouble,_ missy.”

Tiffany landed with a thump of her boots, and Harley turned with a wicked smile. “Oh? And who do we have here? Another fake Bat?”

“Batwing, actually,” Tiffany said, “and stand down, Harley. You’re outnumbered.”

“Not the way I see it.” Casually, Harley spun to face Tiffany, disregarding Catwoman completely. “Not even Batman could stop us, remember? You think _you’re_ any different?”

Tiffany just lifted the remote. Judging by the way Harley flinched, she knew what it meant.

“Don’t make me use this,” she said, resting her thumb over the button.

Tiffany really, really didn’t want to. She didn’t like how much power it put into one person’s hands, and she hated that Waller had brought something like that into this fight. It was, however, one of the best tools at their disposal, and Tiffany wasn’t above using it as a threat or more if it meant solving this with as few casualties as possible. 

“It’s real bold of you to think that a little pain’s gonna stop me,” Harley sneered. She seemed uncertain, hesitant, despite her words; she shifted on her feet and drummed her fingers against the handle across her shoulder, as if considering if it was worth it. “In case you missed it, we’ve been workin’ for Waller for _months._ A little shock doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Tiffany cocked her head. “If it doesn’t scare you, why are you still working for her?” 

Harley stayed silent. She glared, bitterness written across every inch of her face.

“If you don’t fight, I won’t have to press this button,” Tiffany said, nodding at the remote. “Waller can’t interrupt us right now, so you’re completely safe. We can help you if you surrender.”

Harley’s grip tightened on the handle. “No, you can’t help us. Even if Waller goes down, the Agency will want us back.”

Tiffany hadn’t thought about that. She had, admittedly, not considered what they would do with the Pact once they had them cuffed. They’d have to be held somewhere some _how,_ but that was exactly the problem. 

_“Ignore her,”_ Bruce growled. _“We contain them first, and we work things out with the Agency later.”_

There was a loud, echoing bellow, and Tiffany made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder.

She saw Bane and Batwoman wrapped up in battle, with the latter making no headway against the former. Batarangs littered the grass under Bane’s feet, and he didn’t carry a single mark from them. He hunched, his centre of gravity low to the ground, as Batwoman tried to pounce at him from different angles, desperate to find a way to knock him off balance even slightly. It wasn’t working. 

Pain exploded in a hot line behind Tiffany’s calves, and she was swept off her feet. She grunted as she hit the ground, catching her arm underneath her just in time to stop her chin from hitting the dirt. A peal of laughter broke out behind her.

“Oh, _rookie mistake!”_ Harley cackled. 

Tiffany grimaced as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. She still clutched the remote in her free hand, and her thumb twitched towards the button.

A whip cracked.

There was a yelp, and then two thuds.

Catwoman limped into view, the handle of her whip held tightly in her hand. She looked back over her shoulder with distaste as Harley growled and wriggled. As Tiffany sat up, she realised that Harley’s hands were secured awkwardly behind her back, and her hammer had once again fallen into the grass beside her.

“Nice shot,” Tiffany said. 

“Thanks.” Catwoman offered her free hand, an eyebrow raised. “Here.”

Tiffany took it, pulling herself up to her feet. Her calves _ached,_ and she knew that there would be bad bruises there tomorrow. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand up straight. “You got her?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take a pair of handcuffs if you’ve got them.” Catwoman’s gaze slid back over to Harley, her lip curling. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

Harley glared up at Catwoman, pure hatred written across her face. “Waller is gonna be _furious_ with you.”

“Waller isn’t going to matter soon.” When Tiffany gave her the handcuffs, Catwoman dangled them from a claw with obvious pleasure. She sauntered back over to Harley, a smirk on her lips. “I’ll get her secured. You can-”

There was a yell, and Tiffany whipped around to face Bane again. He was crouched, clearly prepared to run, and his path was pointed straight towards the most grouped up part of the GCPD. The raised voice had belonged to Jim, who had pressed himself back against a car as he gestured for his force to make a break for it.

That left just him: a target.

As Bane took his first step, Tiffany pressed the button.

Bane’s fingers shot up to his neck, scrambling at the collar as he hit the ground. He groaned as he curled over on himself, muscles shaking with the sparks that shot from the collar.

Jim stared right at Tiffany. He nodded once in silent thanks, his eyes wide.

Adrenaline still pulsed through her veins, leaving her thrumming with anxiety. Quickly, ignoring the sting of her legs, Tiffany made her way over to Jim, the hand with the remote outstretched. 

“Take this,” she said, pressing it into his hand. “Use it to keep Bane under control.”

Frowning now, Jim took it. He looked just as uncomfortable as Tiffany had felt while holding it. “Why not you?”

Tiffany felt a silent presence at her elbow, and when she glanced out of the corners of her eyes, she saw Iman. “We need to track down Waller,” Tiffany said. “Catwoman promised to lead me to her. I need to take Batwoman as backup.”

Jim peered past Tiffany. “Harley and Joker are secure?”

“The only one who might give you any trouble is Bane since you can’t cuff him.” There was a grunt behind them as Bane shuddered again, still shivering under the effects of the collar. Tiffany felt a slight twinge of guilty sympathy, but not much. She'd done worse, but killing Riddler had been quick, _clean._ Even though there were no other options, treating Bane like this didn't sit right with her. “You can turn it down, by the way. Just use that dial. You might be able to reason with him.”

Jim grimaced as he thumbed the dial just a little. Bane exhaled, long and slow, but remained on his knees. “Stay safe out there, Batwing,” he said, huffing out a breath. “And thanks for the rescue.”

“You stay safe, too.” Tiffany cracked a smile, even though she was exhausted. She wasn't even sure how long they'd been going. “Don’t be scared to use the remote if you have to. We won’t be back in time to help.”

There was a familiar whirr overhead. The drone hovered, its cameras pointed directly at Bane. _“I’m staying here,”_ Bruce said. _“I’ll help keep an eye on things. Find Waller, bring her to justice.”_

“We’ll keep the comms open,” Iman said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Three of them against Waller, plus maybe some guards. Tiffany liked those odds much, much better.

* * *

Catwoman led them to an old office building. It was rundown, and had been for some time; Tiffany recognised the ‘For Sale’ sign plastered across the front from at least several months back. It was untouched and, in some places, crumbling at the edges, but close enough to the square that Waller had probably had a good signal for the collars, as well as plenty of security cameras to observe from.

“She had guards with her,” Catwoman said. The three of them were perched on a rooftop opposite, considering their plan of attack. 

Iman leaned forwards, frowning. “Are we even sure she’s still here?”

“Oh, she’s here.” Catwoman’s lips twisted into a snarl. “She’s definitely still here. She’ll know we’re coming for her, so she’s probably bunkered down. Her office was on the ground floor for an easy escape, but she posted people all over the building.”

And then Catwoman sat up straight, grimacing. “I can’t come inside with you.”

“What?” Iman twisted to face her. “Why?”

In silent reply, Catwoman tapped a claw against the collar. “Batwing left the remote with Gordon. The second Waller realises what’s happening, she’ll take me down. I'm guessing that thing can only do one of us at a time?”

Tiffany nodded with a grimace, and drummed her fingers against her folded arm. “You can still help us take out some guards, though. She won’t know you’re there unless we let her see you.”

Catwoman chuckled quietly. Tiffany frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” She looked at Tiffany out of the corners of her eyes, smiling. “You just sound like Bats.”

If Bruce took it as a compliment, he didn’t say anything in Tiffany’s ear. He was silent. Logically, she knew he’d probably muted himself and shifted to a private channel with Jim so they could work in peace, but she wondered if he’d heard what Catwoman had said, and what he thought about it. 

If she did sound like Batman, she supposed she was on the right track.

“We’ll go in through the roof,” Tiffany said. There was a little hut up there, and she could just about spy a door. “It’ll give us a chance to work through the guards on our way down. If we can do this silently, there won’t be much resistance when we get to her.”

Stealth was going to be interesting for Tiffany, and she knew that. The jetpack made things a little bulky and difficult, as useful as it was. She almost wished there was somewhere she could safely stash it so it would be easier once they were inside, but she didn’t want to risk it going missing while she was gone. As Catwoman easily unlocked the door, Tiffany kept it firmly on her shoulders and crept in behind her.

The majority of the heavy lifting went to the other two. Tiffany trailed behind, watching their backs as they swept through the building room by room, floor by floor, silently incapacitating guards. She helped here and there, but more often than not Tiffany stuck to surveillance; the last thing they needed right now was to blow their cover because her jetpack knocked a wall as she pounced.

“Okay,” Catwoman whispered, lowering a bound guard to the ground. Her voice was barely louder than her carefully measured breathing, her words hushed. “She’s downstairs.”

“How many more guards?” Iman breathed.

Catwoman was silent for a moment, considering, and then lifted her hand. Four fingers - four guards. She wiggled them, and Tiffany took that to mean that it was a rough number.

One problem became quickly apparent once they crept their way down the last flight of stairs: the guards were at the end of a corridor, waiting by a firmly closed door. There were guns at their sides, and while they looked casual and unaware right now, Tiffany knew that that would change at the first sniff of intruders. They were lucky that things had gone so smoothly so far.

“Here’s where I bow out.” Catwoman took a careful step backwards, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s all on you two, now.”

Tiffany tilted her head towards the corridor. “You’re not even going to help with them?”

Catwoman shook her head silently. “Sorry, ladies. You’re on your own. I’m going back to the square.”

She thought about protesting as Catwoman crept away. She wholeheartedly considered it, but she figured it was just better to let her leave. Tiffany preferred the solid unit she and Iman made anyway; they’d work better together without a reluctant third party. 

As Tiffany turned away, Iman nudged her side gently. “I’ll go in first. We’re gonna have to make some noise, so be ready to grab Waller.”

Tiffany planted her feet on the ground. She felt the wings of the jetpack unfold just slightly in preparation. 

Iman tossed a Batarang at the wall in front of them. It tinkled almost delicately as it landed on the floor, and around the corner, the guards murmured suspiciously. Footsteps echoed down the hallway as a pair of them approached.

Perfect.

As soon as they peeked around the corner, Iman struck. She grappled her way towards them, yanking one off of his feet as she knocked the other back. They both went sprawling across the ground with a shout, their guns clattering away and out of reach. While they struggled to get up, Iman twirled, her cape swirling like a whirlwind, and kicked out to put them down again. As the rattle of gunfire started up, Iman dropped back behind the safety of the wall, panting.

“Two down,” she huffed. 

They both winced as boots clattered down the hallway, rushing towards them. Iman waved to Tiffany, gesturing for her to go ahead. Tiffany held up a finger, waiting.

The muzzle of a gun peeked around the corner.

Tiffany turned on her boosters.

Her feet skimmed across the floor as she shot forwards, soaring around to the right with startling ease in the cramped space. She flew right past the guards, and she didn’t worry for a second about how exposed she was; as soon as they shouted, they cried out in shock after, and she knew that Iman had her back.

Together, they were a well-oiled machine. Batman had been good, but a team could be _better._

Tiffany shielded her face as she crashed into the door deliberately, knocking it down with her shoulder. Her muscles screamed at her - it wasn’t just her legs that would be bruised tomorrow now - but she ignored it as she tucked into a roll amongst the carnage. She used the boosters to spring back to her feet, and then switched them off once more with a tap of her thumb against her gloved palm.

Waller sat in a chair in the corner, unmoving. She seemed oddly resigned.

Behind her, there was a desk covered with monitors. They had to have been brought in, given how empty the building had been up until now; all they’d found on their way was a few abandoned filing cabinets. Her remote was on the desk next to the mouse, but it had obviously been cast aside in frustration long ago. 

“So you found me.” Waller folded her hands in her lap casually. “You took down my agents. What do you plan to do now?”

There were two solid thumps from the corridor behind Tiffany. This time, she didn’t turn to look. She knew better now.

“Arrest you,” Tiffany said simply. She reached for a pair of cuffs from her belt. “We were willing to let you walk away when you stuck to your deal, but now you’re just like any other criminal. What were you even planning to gain out of this?”

Waller wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have to speak to any of you vigilantes. I won’t, in fact. If you want to arrest me, do it. You’ll be hearing from the Agency.”

Tiffany smiled as she felt Batwoman’s presence behind her. “No,” Iman said, “we won’t. You’re no longer with them, Waller. We know you left. They won’t protect you, _especially_ with the information we have on your past work. Come quietly.”

It was satisfying to see Waller’s expression darken as recognition set in, even more so when she didn’t reply. 

Silently, she stood, offering her hands. Tiffany offered Iman the handcuffs, and as she latched them around Waller’s wrists, Tiffany reached up to tap her earpiece. “Waller is secure.”

 _“Harley, Joker, and Bane are all secure,”_ Batman reported. _“Great job, Batwing, Batwoman. Bring her in.”_


	14. Chapter 14

As it turned out, securing them was the easy part. Harley, Joker, and Waller were all easy enough to contain, human as they were, and once Bane didn’t have access to his venom, it was a little simpler to keep him down. For the time being, the GCPD kept hold of the remote for the shock collar, mostly for Bane’s sake in case he tried anything, but he seemed surprisingly docile once he was in custody. 

Dealing with the aftermath was a little more awkward.

* * *

That same night, Tiffany and Iman brought Selina back to the Batcave. Bruce had listened over the comms as Jim had made an agreement with her - he would ignore her previous crimes as long as she stayed clean for the rest of her stay, and then once she left Gotham, she wouldn’t come back. It was as generous as he could be, even with her cooperation in taking the Pact down, but the thought of justice didn’t occur to Bruce once. As far as he was concerned, she’d repaid her debt.

And now it was his turn.

Selina perched on the table in front of the Batcomputer, holding still as Tiffany tinkered with the collar at her throat. Bruce was on her other side, lost in silent thought as he plucked a panel off of the side of it. So far, Waller had refused to give up any hints on removing it, so they had been forced to figure it out themselves. It was lucky that Tiffany was so good with a screwdriver, really.

“Hey, Bruce,” Tiffany muttered, squinting, “is there something that looks like a latch on your side? I found a hinge hidden under here.”

“Hold on.” Bruce ducked his head. “Selina, do you mind tilting your head a little more?” He waited, and then leaned into the newly revealed space. “Yeah, got it. Just need to… There.”

There was a click, and then the collar fell away into Bruce’s hand. He winced at the sight of the skin that had been trapped underneath; it was red and looked more than a little sore, but Selina sighed and stretched with obvious pleasure. “That’s _much_ better,” she purred. “Thanks, you two.” 

“No problem.” Tiffany tossed her screwdriver onto the table before backing up a couple of steps, rolling her shoulders. “Now, I’m gonna go change. The jetpack gets _heavy._ Iman, you good?”

“Yeah.” Iman pushed herself back from the Batcomputer, tapping a key once as she moved away. “Jim won’t be long, he’s just getting things secured at the GCPD. I think he wants to talk to you some more before you leave, Selina.” As she removed her cowl, Iman smoothed her fingers through her hair, sweeping it back from her face. “I’m right behind you, Tiffany, just grabbing my bag.”

As the other two moved around the Batcave, Bruce stepped away to rest the collar on the table. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it yet - it seemed too cruel to put amongst the other trophy cabinets, but maybe Tiffany and Iman could tinker with it, just for the sake of having the plans if it ever came up again. He decided to leave it for now. 

“Quite the little team you’ve got here,” Selina said, leaning back on her hands. She was still settled on the table, looking relaxed for the first time in a while. 

Bruce hummed with a little smile. “It’s not my team now,” he said. “It’s Tiffany’s. I’m retired.”

“Shame. Gotham won’t be the same without you.”

“Gotham still has me. Just as, you know…” Bruce shifted his gaze back to her, gesturing towards himself. “Just as me.”

Selina had removed her goggles. They sat in her lap, though there was an imprint around her eyes from where they’d been pressed against her face for some time. There was something almost wistful in the way she looked at him, but it quickly faded to be replaced with the playful, flirtatious smile he was far too familiar with. “Then Gotham’s very, _very_ lucky to have you.” 

She leaned forwards a little, propping her chin up on her hand. She shot a glance across the Batcave to where Tiffany and Iman chattered away, and then returned to Bruce with a smirk. An eyebrow arched upwards, curious. “How will I - or Gotham, for that matter - _ever_ repay you?”

Bruce laughed, gently brushing off her advances with what he hoped was a polite, not awkward, smile. “Selina, I can’t. Regardless, you don’t need to repay me.”

Her smile widened, gentling to something sweeter. “I know, Bruce; I’m kidding. You know I’d never fool around with a taken man.”

As Bruce tripped over his tongue to find a reply, the elevator at the end of the cave opened to reveal a tired, slouching Jim. Bruce’s chest warmed at the sight of him - he was _home,_ he was _safe_ \- but he still felt the weight of Selina’s gaze. When he glanced back at her, he saw only fondness. 

She reached out to squeeze his arm. “Congratulations,” she said, sincere.

Jim’s boots thunked heavily on the metal catwalk as he made his way over to their platform. “I thought you would’ve taken off by now, Kyle,” he said as he climbed the stairs. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he joined them, coming to rest naturally next to Bruce. It was a struggle to not just reach out and sweep him into a hug; he looked like he needed it. 

“Well, first of all, I needed to get rid of that awful piece of jewelry.” Selina wrinkled her nose with distaste as she shot the collar a hateful glare. “Secondly, I wanted to help however I can if it keeps me clean and away from the Agency.”

“It’s appreciated.” Jim inclined his head. “I’ll be right with you. You mind if I borrow Bruce for a minute first?”

Selina shrugged. “Be my guest. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jim’s fingers tangled around Bruce’s, and his heart jumped like it was the first time all over again. 

He tugged him down to the trophy cases. It wasn’t exactly secluded, but Selina looked away politely, inspecting her nails. For now, it would do; Bruce wasn’t sure when they’d get more than a minute alone.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he breathed, sinking his hands into the sides of Jim’s coat to tug him closer. Bruce closed his eyes as their noses bumped. He was well aware that Jim was more than capable of looking after himself, but this had been an entirely different kind of experience. 

Jim puffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, thanks to you three, I am.” His hands skimmed up to Bruce’s shoulders, holding onto them through the firm armour of the Batsuit; in all the commotion, he still hadn’t had an opportunity to change from his afternoon sparring session, aside from removing the gauntlets to work on Selina’s collar. He was sure that there was something poetic about the fact that he’d been sat here in the Batcave, half Batman and half Bruce, while the battle raged, but it drifted from his thoughts before it was fully formed.

Bruce forced out a long, slow breath as he just _held_ Jim. “If you say stuff like that, you’ll give me a reason to come out of retirement,” he joked. 

“Well, I’ll try not to.” Jim’s lips brushed against his, light and unfortunately brief. “It’s gonna be a lot of late nights right now, Bruce. Not sure when I’m gonna be home.”

“I’ll have dinner waiting for you.” Bruce was determined to get what little time together they had when he could. He couldn’t help as Batman, but he could sure as hell help his partner as himself. 

Jim sighed. His breath fanned out against Bruce’s lips. “You’re too damn good to me,” Jim muttered fondly. He kissed the corner of Bruce’s mouth again before he released him. Bruce reluctantly let his hands drop back to his sides. “Now, let me go talk to Kyle so she can head off. I’ll probably have to go back to the station after, too. Gotta make sure everyone’s secure.”

“I know.” In that moment, Bruce was reminded of how much he admired Jim. His dedication to making Gotham a better, safer place was a rare thing in this city, and it was just one of the many reasons why Bruce loved him. 

Jim’s fingers brushed against his as he passed, heading back up to Selina. Bruce turned on the spot to look out at the rest of the Batcave. In the distance, he could hear Tiffany and Iman laughing; they were too far for him to pick out the words, but they sounded happy, bar their more obvious complaints about their aches and pains from the night’s events. Jim’s familiar, low rumble filled in the gaps in conversation as he chatted to Selina, soothing the nervous jitter in Bruce’s muscles.

He leaned back against the railing, eyes closed as he listened and, for once, enjoyed doing nothing.

* * *

Taking the backseat became a little more frustrating as things dragged on. 

Jim, on behalf of the GCPD, managed most of the communication with the Agency’s new - and temporary - director. The long and short of it was that they weren’t interested in the members of the Pact. As far as they were concerned, the GCPD could do as they saw fit; it had been Waller’s decision to take them on in the first place, and the Agency wanted to recover some of its reputation by leaving them out in the cold. 

They did want Waller, though.

Jim broke the news after another late night at the GCPD a week after the battle. Bruce had saved him a plate of dinner, and Jim picked at it as they talked. “They didn’t say why they wanted her,” he grumbled, spearing a piece of potato on his fork. He looked utterly exhausted, and Bruce planned on pulling him upstairs to bed as soon as he was done eating. “I really, really hope it’s not to get her back on, but I can’t say no. They’ll just pull the government card like she did.”

Bruce grimaced. “I could talk to them,” he offered, but even he knew it was an empty promise. Any weight he’d had with the Agency as Batman had died when Waller had left. 

There was a warm, gentle look on Jim’s face as he looked up at Bruce, despite the grey circles under his eyes. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know if they’d be intimidated,” he teased. “It’s okay, Bruce. We’re making arrangements for Harley and Bane at Blackgate, and Arkham are looking to get Joker back to see if they can help him. The only one we’re trying to figure out right now is Waller.”

“Has she said why she did it?”

Jim sighed, nudging the food on his plate. “Bits and pieces. Power got to her head, if you ask me.” 

Bruce toyed with an idea. A similar one had burned him before, but… maybe this time it would be different. 

“Can I try talking to her?” he asked. He laced his fingers in his lap, patiently waiting for Jim’s reaction, but all he saw was a brief pause as Jim loaded his fork. “For closure.”

“I can try and swing it, I guess,” Jim said carefully. He set his cutlery down, reaching instead for Bruce’s hand. He gladly gave it, slotting his fingers between Jim’s. His stare was heavy and serious in a way that Bruce hadn’t had directed at him in a long, long time; it transported him back to his early Batman days, where Jim had been the one to hesitantly give him a chance. “As long as it’s not gonna make things worse for you, Bruce. You don’t owe anyone anything now, remember.”

“It’s not about that.” Bruce squeezed his hand. “It’s for me. I think it’ll help, actually, rather than make things worse.”

There was, admittedly, a slight sense of obligation there. Waller’s entire problem with Gotham was because of him and his actions; he’d been the one to determine their deal, after all, with the blackmail he’d held to force her to agree. He was just glad that things hadn’t been worse. Maybe she’d been too angry and impulsive, and that was why things had failed so spectacularly with minimal injuries. Even the few injured cops were due to be back on their feet soon enough. It had felt suspiciously easy, but Bruce knew that there were no major players left waiting in the wings.

This time, it felt like it was truly finished. He just needed to turn the last page in the chapter.

“Then I’ll see if I can get you in.”

Bruce let go of him so he could continue eating. He smiled crookedly. “You don’t need to ask permission. You’re the commissioner.”

Jim snorted. “I’ll need a good reason for letting Bruce Wayne in to see our most heavily guarded prisoner right now, though. That’s not even including the part about our relationship.”

“Everyone knows she forced my hand with the Pact,” he pointed out. “That’s a good reason.”

“Fair.” Jim sighed. His eyes closed for a moment as he chewed, and Bruce wondered if they’d open again or if he’d just go to sleep right there on the couch. “God, I wish I could get a full night. I need to head back out early.”

Tucking his arm around him, Bruce pulled him into a hug. “We’ll take a vacation once this is over. Somewhere nice, away from Gotham.”

“I’d settle for just staying here for a week in your pool, you know.” Jim leaned in against his side, resting his weight against Bruce as he slowly went back to the remains of his dinner. “Forget travelling, we can just not leave the grounds.”

Bruce hid a smile against Jim’s hair. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

* * *

Letting Bruce in to see Waller didn’t quite sit right with Jim, but he kept his mouth shut. He trusted Bruce to know what he could and couldn’t handle, and he quieted the little protective voice deep in his chest that wanted to keep Waller far, far away from Bruce so she couldn’t harm him again. He wasn’t in the business of making demands of his partner, though, and this was no different.

Iman came with them, too. While Bruce came as himself, finely dressed in a very nice suit, Iman arrived separately, cloaked as Batwoman. 

It was one way of letting the GCPD know that there were still Batpeople around, Jim supposed.

Waller had her own cell deep in the areas with tighter security. She was probably one of the most human people that these cells had ever seen, but nobody wanted to take any chances when they were making preparations to hand her over to the Agency. The thought of letting her go like that still left a sour taste in Jim’s mouth, though he knew there was nothing that he could do.

“Here she is,” Jim said, opening up the last door. Waller’s cell was half of the room, tucked in at the back, away from the door. 

She looked up from her perch on her bed, an eyebrow raised when she took in the crowd at her door. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, Bruce,” she said, closing the book in her hands. “Didn’t think that Gordon would allow it.”

Jim chose to ignore the comment. He closed the door behind them, and he leaned back against it with folded arms. “These two have some questions for you,” he said coolly. “You’ve got a lot of unfinished business before you head back to the Agency, Waller.”

“And I’m sure I’ll never be heard from again.” There was no trace of sarcasm in her voice; to Jim, it sounded like she believed it. Odds were, they had their own set of cells wherever their headquarters were, and if she hadn’t literally captured and forced people to do her bidding, Jim might have found it in himself to pity her. Waller sighed, considering them. “I know you’re not going anywhere. Ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

Bruce stepped forwards. Jim’s gaze flicked towards him, and he took a moment to silently appreciate the way he could see Batman in the way he stood, the way he held his shoulders; if he squinted, he could picture the cape whispering against the floor. It was a ghost of the times he had interrogated criminals with Jim, a reminder of simpler times. “Why break the deal?” Bruce asked, quietly, coldly. “You wouldn’t be in this position now if you’d stuck to our terms.”

“I’m aware.” Setting her book aside, Waller got to her feet to approach the bars. She folded her arms behind her back, as calmly as she had outside of her cell. “It’s simpler than you think. Even as the director, there was only so much I could do. So I left.”

“You abandoned them,” Iman corrected. 

Waller inclined her head. “If that’s the term you prefer.”

Iman seemed wound up with silent rage. She stepped up to Bruce’s side, but no further; she stopped when Bruce placed a warning hand on her shoulder. “Why?” Iman demanded. “Why do any of it? The Pact, Project LOTUS, _anything?”_

“Control, Batwoman. What else?” Waller gestured towards the walls, beyond which the city lay. “I wanted to help-”

“By unleashing the Pact on Gotham?”

Waller smiled. “That was personal.”

Jim tried not to shiver at the cold drip of hate down his spine. He ended up with a disgusted curl of his lip. “You were the goddamn director, Waller. You had a good job, great pay, and you gave it up to be vindictive?”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from working with the Pact,” Waller said, turning away to meander back to her bed, “is that they’ve got one thing right. Revenge is worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears you put into it. Quite simply…” She stopped, looking back at them over her shoulder. “Batman drove me out. It’s no secret that I was unhappy with our deal, Bruce. As far as I was concerned, once I was away from the Agency, the terms no longer applied.”

She sat, picking up her book again. “If you haven’t got anything else to ask, we’re done. You can transfer me whenever, Gordon.”

Jim ignored her. His attention sat solely with Bruce and Iman; he watched, waiting for some cue from them to indicate what they wanted. He didn’t plan on pushing them out before they were ready, regardless of what Waller said. 

If Jim hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Iman trembled under Bruce’s steadying hand. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, calmly, “we _are_ done here.”

* * *

Tiffany sat, tinkering with her jetpack. Distantly, she could hear Iman fiddling with the utility belt for her Batsuit, and Bruce’s low murmur as he made suggestions. They all knew what they were waiting for - there was a heavy sense of expectation in the cool air, weighing them all down and keeping them from raising their voices - but nobody mentioned it aloud. Even when Alfred joined them in the Batcave, pulled down by curiosity more than anything else, he was just as quiet as he took the seat by the Batcomputer.

And then Jim arrived. 

He was tired. It was obvious in every line of his body, every muscle that slumped with use. In the two weeks since the fight with the Pact, he’d been run into the ground by the GCPD and all the preparations he needed to make. Given the magnitude of the problem, he couldn’t exactly hand it off to anyone else; it was his responsibility, and his alone.

Tiffany felt the attention shift to him as he made his slow way along the catwalk. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, leaning against them with a sigh. He looked like he needed a cigarette, or maybe a drink, or possibly just a very long sleep. Maybe all three.

“It’s done,” he said. “Waller’s in the Agency’s custody. Harley and Bane are secured at Blackgate, awaiting trial.”

“Joker?” Bruce asked quietly.

“Back in Arkham.” The corner of Jim’s mouth twisted with just a little bit of displeasure. “Dr. Leland wanted him back there so he could receive proper care.”

“Good. He didn’t want to leave anyway.”

Tiffany let go of a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The confirmation that everyone was where they should be seemed to pluck a weight off of her shoulders; she felt them physically rise just a little, like the knowledge had actually been holding her down. 

They were all gone. Split apart, mostly, but Tiffany doubted they’d be hearing from Bane and Harley anytime soon. From what Jim had said, Bane had seemed to imply he’d never wanted to go along with Waller in the first place, unlike Harley, who had been tempted by the power the Agency had offered. There wasn’t much that she’d be able to do on her own from within prison - at least, she wouldn’t be able to do anything soon.

That left Gotham oddly empty. All the usual suspects were gone, missing, or locked away - or, in Riddler’s case, dead, she thought with some grim satisfaction. Not even Catwoman remained; she’d left that same night they’d removed her collar, vanishing without a whisper. 

For now, Gotham was relatively safe.

“Well, then,” Alfred said, “thank you for the good news, Jim. Cause for celebration, perhaps?”

Jim rested against the railing with a huff. He seemed to prop more of his weight against it than usual. “Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I just wanna get some sleep.”

Tiffany blinked, and then Bruce was heading down the stairs towards him. He’d moved so quickly that she’d almost missed him entirely. He stopped next to Jim’s side, politely not touching him as much as he probably wanted to in front of their friends, but it was plain to see anyway; Bruce leaned towards him, as if every cell in his body was simply meant to draw him in towards Jim. The hard lines in Jim’s features softened somewhat as their gazes met, and a smile made its slow, meandering way across his mouth. 

It was so intimate that Tiffany felt like she was intruding. She looked back down at her jetpack, waiting for the moment to pass.

“Then let’s get you some rest,” Bruce said quietly, soft enough that Tiffany was sure that she wasn’t meant to hear it. “Come on, Jim.”

“Hold on a minute.” 

As he thunked up the metal stairs, Tiffany glanced up again, and then finally sat upright when Jim stood in front of her. He was still smiling, open and warm in a way that she rarely saw from him. Maybe it was just the delight of closing this chapter for good. “You two better look after Gotham while I take a break,” he said. “You can talk to Montoya if you need anything.”

“Montoya?” Tiffany asked. “The cop you usually partner up with, right?”

“Yeah.” Then, grinning, Jim added, “Iman knows her.”

There was a clatter as Iman dropped her utility belt. Tiffany turned in her seat, already snickering; Iman was blushing furiously as she scooped it up again to loop back around her Batsuit. “Jim,” she muttered, “how- how do you-”

“Renee and I are good friends. She told me after you guys came back here.” Jim chuckled, unable to stifle his own laughter, and behind him, Bruce just openly stared. “I didn’t get to being the commissioner because of my looks, you know, Iman. Surprised you told her about Batwoman, though.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she straightened up again. Her face was still red. “I didn’t… tell her, exactly. She figured it out when I saved her from Bane.”

“You know, she did look pretty surprised when I said I knew you.” Jim’s grin eased back into a gentler, friendly smile. “Congrats, though.”

“Thanks.” 

“Now.” Jim turned on his heel, making his way back to Bruce’s side. “I’m going to be on vacation starting today. Doesn’t matter that I’m in the manor, I’m taking a break. I don’t wanna hear about anything unless it’s on the news.”

Tiffany saluted. “Got it, Commish. Reporting to Iman’s girlfriend _only.”_

Iman groaned behind her. Tiffany grinned.

As soon as the elevator doors closed on Jim and Bruce, Tiffany whirled around in her chair to face her. “So, not only did _Batman_ date a cop, Batwoman is, too? How long were you gonna keep that secret?”

“It is rather poetic,” Alfred agreed, trying and failing to suppress a polite smile. “A rather fitting cycle, I think. Though, you did get around to it much faster than Bruce did.”

* * *

Bruce had just one more stop to make before he settled down for a vacation with Jim.

Dr. Leland met him in Arkham’s lobby, her mouth set in a grim line. “I’m not sure that visiting him would be a good idea, Mr. Wayne.”

For once, they agreed.

“Neither do I,” Bruce said simply. His hands remained folded behind his back, and he let his practiced, measured speech flow. “I just wanted to make sure that he’s okay.”

“He’s doing fine. As fine as can be expected, anyway.” Leland hugged her clipboard to her chest, watching Bruce warily over the top of it. “He’s mentioned that he feels betrayed by you after you called the police when he tried to talk to you.”

Bruce bit his tongue. Joker’s description was, of course, leaving out a few key details, but he wasn’t about to argue it here.

“At least we can thank our new heroes for bringing him in,” Leland sighed. “He was happy to have his old room back when the police brought him here. Perhaps, Mr. Wayne, you can visit once he asks for you again, though I’m not sure how long that will be. It’s no surprise that he didn’t take too kindly to his only friend rejecting him.”

He chose to ignore the jab, allowing it to roll off of his shoulders instead. “I’m not sure I’ll be accepting,” Bruce admitted. “For the sake of my own mental health, that is.”

“Ah.” Leland arched a brow, considering him for a moment. “I did always say that you should have extended your stay. Things have changed a great deal with your funding.”

“I already have a therapist, I’m afraid.” Bruce smiled the bland smile of a politician. “I will be checking in on a more official capacity soon, though. I’d like to see what changes have been made. I’m trying to take a greater look at my investments to make sure things are moving in the right direction.”

“And when can we expect you, Mr. Wayne?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce fought to keep his expression neutral, but his thoughts were already wandering to the next few weeks. “I’m about to go on vacation, so I’ll contact you when I’m back.”

Leland didn’t try to hide her disdain. Bruce could read into it enough to know what she was thinking - billionaires didn’t need vacations, not when she expected Bruce to sit and do nothing all day - but she was forgetting one key thing: Jim was still a hardworking man, and he definitely _did_ need a vacation. Who better to spend it with than his own partner?

“Then enjoy your vacation, Mr. Wayne,” Leland sniffed. 

He stepped back out into the weak Gotham sunshine shortly after, and this time, there was someone waiting for him by his car.

Jim leaned against the side of it, no cigarette in hand. His usual work attire was gone, replaced with comfortable jeans and a shirt. He looked over when he heard the doors to Arkham’s entrance, and a soft smile broke out across his face.

Bruce would never get tired of that sight.

“How’d it go?” he asked once Bruce was close enough. 

He shrugged. “By the sound of things, he’s happy here. That’s all I needed to know.” Bruce took the spot next to Jim, resting back against the warm metal of the car. His fingers brushed against Jim’s, and then tangled between them, hidden by their bodies. “I’m now officially on vacation.”

“About time,” Jim hummed. His thumb rubbed in familiar circles against Bruce’s hand, leaving a tingling path behind. “What do you wanna do first?”

Bruce shot him a smile. “Didn’t you say something about the pool?”

“I did. I’ve got my shorts at home.”

“We can go pick them up on-”

But Jim cut him off with a quiet laugh. “When I said home,” Jim said slowly, “I meant _home._ The manor.”

_Oh._

If it hadn’t been for the cameras around Arkham, Bruce would have swept him up into a kiss there and then.

Bruce squeezed his hand. “In that case, let’s go home.”

Jim grinned, and Bruce’s heart flipped in his chest like it was the first time he saw him smile all over again. “Let’s go home,” he echoed. “I want to be in the pool and drinking beer by five.”

Laughter bubbled up and out of Bruce, open and free in a way that it hadn’t for a long, long time. He piled into the car with Jim, and as he buckled himself in, it felt like the last pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place. 

He didn’t feel the obligation to be Batman now. Gotham was in a rare state of peace, and when things inevitably rumbled under the surface again, Batwing and Batwoman would be there to fight back. They had the skills and the teamwork to keep Gotham safe in a way that Batman had struggled with alone. The worry that he’d have to break his promise to Alfred had faded away, like it had never been there.

The too big manor bustled with life now. It wasn’t much, of course, and it was still far too much for just five people, but Tiffany and Iman crashed there sometimes, and even Renee had promised to show her face now and again. There was still the matter of telling her about Batman’s true identity, more as a retrospective joke now than anything else, but that would come with time. Right now, all she knew was Batwoman, and she hadn’t pried for more from Iman just yet.

And, of course, Bruce had Jim. No other romantic relationship had felt so stable, so solid, just like Jim himself.

As Jim started the car, Bruce simply admired him, and as Arkham folded away behind them along with the past, Bruce looked ahead to the future.


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way to the end of my incredibly niche fic, thank you so much!

A year and a half later, Bruce woke to find an envelope on the windowsill.

The bed was empty except for him. Jim’s spot had long since cooled after his early start at work; Bruce blearily remembered planting a sleepy kiss on his cheek when his alarm urged him out of bed, and Jim fondly replying to his mumbled ‘I love you’ before he headed out the door. He’d fallen asleep again not long after that, and had been snoring into his pillow long before Jim reached the front door.

He almost missed the envelope entirely. It was only because the window was ajar that Bruce noticed. 

He paused, his belt halfway through the loops of his trousers, when he felt the breeze across his skin. It didn’t seem odd to Bruce - Jim preferred a cooler bedroom anyway when they slept, and sometimes they forgot and left it open before bed - and as he went to close it, he saw it stuck to the frame on the outside.

His name was on the front, written in familiar cursive. He peeled it away from the window and, carefully, opened it.

Inside, there was a letter and a little pouch. Bruce reached for the letter first.

_ For the happy couple. - S  
_ _ P.S. You can thank me by inviting me to the wedding.  _

Simple enough. There was even a heart at the bottom, as if Bruce had any doubt about who had left the envelope. 

The pouch clinked gently as he scooped it up. There was a distinct shape under his thumb as he rubbed at it through the velvet, and his suspicions were confirmed when he tugged on the strings to open it.

Two gold rings. 

They were, in fact, ones that Bruce had already been looking at. They were simple bands; he knew that Jim wouldn’t want anything complicated. There was an engraved pattern that ran the length of the bands, just to give it a little more texture, long and flowing as it circled around to its own tail.

He and Jim had talked about marriage, of course. The topic had been inevitable. They adored one another, and it was plain to anyone who was permitted to see them in their softer moments. Smiling in a way that seemed almost shy, Jim had said yes to the idea of getting married one day, and had mentioned that he didn’t mind when it came about. That had, of course, come along with a joke about how he wasn’t getting any younger, and Bruce had kissed his cheek with a laugh.

It still felt odd, though. Bruce had never really thought he’d have the opportunity to settle down with someone, but he knew that Jim was exactly that kind of person. It had been a pleasant surprise to think about all of the things he was allowed to plan out now that he no longer fought for his life every night.

Briefly, it had occurred to Bruce to feel guilty about Tiffany and Iman taking that place, only to discover that they didn’t seem to struggle with the balance at all. Iman and Renee were still going strong, and Tiffany often talked about how excited she was for her younger siblings’ various milestones as they grew up. He still wasn’t quite sure what the difference was between them and him, and how they had managed to handle the two identities much better. It was impressive.

He’d looked at rings, though. Bruce hadn’t had any solid plans yet, but he’d shopped. He and Jim were hovering around the two year mark - easily surpassing Bruce’s longest relationship - so he’d considered it after they’d each given their permission to consider marriage.

How Selina knew the exact rings he’d had in mind, though, Bruce had no clue.

“These had better be legal,” Bruce muttered to himself as he picked one up. He measured it against his finger, sliding it on just a little. 

It fit perfectly.

Bruce dropped it back into the pouch with a sigh. “Damn it, Selina,” he murmured, tucking it into the drawer by his bed. He decided to leave it there for now, tucked out of the way until he had thought things through better.

* * *

He didn’t see Jim until the evening, but that was to be expected. As Bruce said his goodbyes to Tiffany and Iman - fresh up from the Batcave, excitedly discussing new tech Tiffany had crafted for them - Jim’s car pulled up the driveway. He playfully tapped the horn as he passed them on his way to his usual parking spot.

“Oh, Bruce,” Iman said, “remember that I won’t be in for the next couple of days. Renee and I are trying to fit all of our moving into as few as possible.”

“I remember,” he promised. How could he forget? Iman and Renee made such a sweet couple, and if he didn’t hear about it from Iman herself, Jim heard plenty from Renee through the day anyway. He wasn’t sure that they had ever been like that, but then again their relationship was a little more public anyway. There wasn’t space to walk hand in hand down the street, even though they were old news now. “Congrats on the place, by the way. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, you’d better invite us all over after you’re moved in,” Tiffany added, nudging Iman’s side. The two were thick as thieves now, after all the work they’d done together. “Mostly so I can see the pets, of course.”

Laughing, Iman said, “Of course. I think you’d like Renee’s dog, he’s sweet.”

“He doesn’t hate the cat?”

“He’s been really good with him, actually, so far.”

The chatter faded a little for Bruce as Jim headed over, his boots crunching on the gravel. He dipped in to kiss Bruce’s cheek as his arm looped around Jim’s waist automatically. Bruce was suddenly, painfully aware of the rings in his bedside table upstairs, but he tried to put it out of his mind for now.

“Renee said you guys are throwing a housewarming party,” Jim said, settling his arm around Bruce’s shoulders.

“A small barbecue,” Iman corrected, smiling. “We don’t need anyone getting wasted in our new place.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m too old to go drinking that much now anyway,” Jim chuckled. Just the sound of his laugh made Bruce’s heart bump up against his ribs in an excited little pulse. “We’ll be there.”

“Alfred has an invite too, by the way,” Iman added, digging into her pocket for her keys, “don’t forget to tell him.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Of course I won’t forget. He probably already knows.”

He and Jim waved goodbye from the doorstep, watching as Tiffany piled into the car with Iman to get a ride home. Once the car was turned away towards the gates, Bruce kissed the corner of Jim’s mouth, light and fleeting. “How was work?”

“Same old, same old.” Jim caught him for a proper kiss, humming against his lips. “Still a little more boring without you showing up. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

As they ventured inside, Bruce thought again about the rings, sitting innocently in their little pouch. Silently, he cursed Selina for putting them there to haunt his every waking moment with the promise of married bliss with Jim. It had been on his mind before, of course, but it hadn’t shadowed his every move quite like this did.

* * *

“Alfred, I need help.”

Bruce slumped onto the couch next to him, sinking into the plush cushions with a sigh. Alfred paused, his cup of tea halfway to his mouth, and then continued with his sip before he answered. “What’s wrong, Bruce?”

In a silent answer, Bruce held out his hand towards Alfred. One of the rings sat in the centre of his palm.

Alfred inhaled, sharp but quiet. “Is that…?”

“For Jim, yeah.” He curled his fingers around it again. “I didn’t plan on it just yet, but…”

He fell silent as Alfred set his teacup down on the table. “I assume you’re both on the same page.”

Bruce’s cheeks warmed. “We are.”

“Well, that’s a good first step.” When Alfred sat back up, he turned a kind smile on Bruce, and some of the nervous energy in his chest finally died. “What do you need help with?”

“I don’t know how to do it.” Groaning, Bruce closed his eyes, and he sunk a little further back into the couch. Whenever he tried to think of a set up for a proposal, he just seemed to forget everything he’d ever known about Jim. “I don’t know what setting he’d like, or who he’d want around, if  _ anyone, _ or-”

“Bruce.” 

He closed his mouth.

There were traces of amusement in Alfred’s face, particularly in the ever present sparkle in his eye, but Bruce was too lost in his own circling thoughts to call him out on it. “Talk me through your ideas.”

“It’s just one,” Bruce said weakly. “I was thinking of going out into the gardens.”

“That would certainly be a picturesque place to do it,” Alfred agreed. “You didn’t want to do it over dinner? I seem to recall teasing you when you two started.”

And that, well. That sparked an idea.

Bruce surged up to hug Alfred. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing him around the shoulders. “I need to start cooking.” 

Alfred patted him on the back, chuckling warmly. “Shall I take that to mean you’re doing it tonight, Bruce?”

“If my dinner plan doesn’t crash and burn, maybe.” Bruce grinned at him as he released him. “And if the weather doesn’t turn.” And there were a multitude of other things that could go wrong, of course, there  _ always _ were, but Bruce felt optimistic. 

He just had to find a box for the ring. He was sure he could track something down.

* * *

Jim arrived home late, as expected. The sun was only just beginning to set, and Bruce had dinner keeping warm under covers in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, Bruce texted Jim to let him know where to find him, and then he waited.

It wasn’t long before he came through the door. He’d shrugged off his coat somewhere along the way, and he’d evidently left his holster with it. Jim’s shirt was all rumpled and untucked, his hair was askew, and he looked  _ perfect _ to Bruce. He welcomed Jim in with open arms, smiling against his lips as they met for a kiss.

The nerves hadn’t kicked in yet.

“Hey,” Bruce murmured. “Welcome home.”

“Mm.” Jim just hummed, clearly in no rush to go anywhere. His hands skimmed up Bruce’s forearms, and his fingers tucked under his rolled up sleeves. “Evening.”

Reluctantly, Bruce nudged him back a step. “Go take a seat outside,” he said, tapping Jim’s side fondly. “I’ll bring the food out. Do you want a beer?”

“I got ‘em.” Jim paused at the fridge to grab two, one for each of them, and then bumped the door closed with his hip. Bruce hid his smile behind Jim’s back as he uncovered their plates, scooped them up, and followed. He was close enough that he could hear Jim’s quiet surprised noise as he stepped outside.

Candles already littered one of the garden tables, the flames flickering as the evening’s light began to fade. It cast a warm, cosy glow over their dining spot, and once night truly set - if they made it that far - then it’d make the perfect intimate atmosphere to lead up to a proposal. Bruce felt pretty pleased with himself for putting it together on such short notice.

“Pulling out all the stops tonight, Bruce,” Jim teased, setting their drinks down. “You don’t need to do all this to get laid.”

Bruce laughed. “It’s not to get laid. I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me. Must be something special if you’ve cooked me steak.” Jim sunk down into his chair, cracking open his beer. 

Bruce ignored the butterflies rattling around in his chest as he put their plates down and sat, scooting his chair a little closer to Jim’s. It wasn’t uncommon for them to sit outside to eat on a nice day, but the candles were new. Maybe it had been a little ambitious of Bruce to think he could get this past Jim completely.

Still, Jim let it go as they tucked into their dinner. Conversation flowed easily, as it always did between the two of them, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief when Jim praised his cooking; if it had gone badly, that would have been reason enough to save the proposal for another night. 

Eventually, Jim set down his cutlery on his empty plate, and he leaned back in his chair to sip at the last of his beer. He sighed, satisfied, as he closed his eyes. “Thanks for that, Bruce. That was perfect.”

Bruce planted his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, idly turning his bottle back and forth as he admired Jim. “You’re perfect,” he said simply. It drew a flicker of a smile out of Jim, the kind that lingered on his face in subtle ways after it was gone. 

He meant it, though. Jim really was perfect. He was one of the best men Gotham had ever seen, and certainly the best that Bruce had had the privilege of knowing. Some days, he wondered how he’d ever been so lucky to end up with him, even after Jim knew everything he’d done as both Bruce and Batman. They could be two years in or ten, and Bruce would still treasure their relationship like it was merely days old.

He stood. Jim cracked open an eye at the scrape of his chair. “What?”

Bruce offered him a hand. When Jim raised his eyebrows, Bruce laughed quietly and said, “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Something in his voice must have tipped Jim off, because he got to his feet without any further complaints. They left their drinks behind, linking their fingers together as Bruce led him down the worn pathway into the gardens.

Despite their lack of use, they were all still well maintained. Alfred had been the only staff allowed to stay in the house for as long as Bruce could remember, but gardeners had been necessary for the sake of the grounds. Bruce hadn’t seen any reason to get rid of them over the years, and so he gladly kept them on to maintain the beauty of Wayne Manor’s gardens. 

It definitely paid off now. Various flowers were in full bloom, climbing up their supports or popping out of bushes to line the path. The gardeners had taken the liberty of shaping the bushes, guiding them to curve into archways whenever there was an exit that split off to a different part of the grounds. 

It was something close to magical, though, Bruce thought. He’d always thought that the gardens were pretty, even when he was much younger, and that certainly hadn’t changed. They chatted quietly about it as they wandered, and then their conversation trailed away too as they picked at other meaningless topics, things that weren’t related and barely mattered. Later, all that Bruce would remember was the warmth of Jim’s hand in his own, and the way he laughed and smiled as he leaned into Bruce’s side.

They took a winding route that eventually led back to the house, but Bruce stopped when they were just around the corner from their seats. His heart thudded in his chest, almost painful with the way it beat a tattoo against his ribs. In all of the positions he’d been in - giving speeches as Bruce Wayne, life or death situations as Batman - nothing came close in terms of pure nerves. He knew what Jim’s answer would be, but it was still  _ terrifying. _

Jim turned to him, and something in his expression made Bruce certain that Jim knew what he was about to do. 

There was only warm patience on his face, so Bruce cleared his throat and ploughed ahead.

“Jim,” he said, and every half imagined version of this moment fell away at once. It left him with nothing but the knowledge that he’d have to make it up as he went along. 

“Bruce,” Jim replied, smiling. 

He huffed out a quiet laugh, ducking his head as he smiled. “You can’t interrupt me, I’ll lose my thread.”

“Alright, alright.” Jim squeezed his hand as he chuckled. “Go on.”

He took a quick breath to steady himself, and then continued. “You are one of the best people I have ever met, and certainly one of the best things to ever happen to me.” There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt about that; Bruce’s life had been filled with enough turmoil that Jim was easily the brightest spark out there. 

Bruce blinked hard, swallowing back emotion as quickly as it had risen. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I would still be standing here today if it hadn’t been for you. Nobody else was willing to give me a chance as Batman, and you were the only one to see me as a friend instead of a means to an end. It wasn’t a surprise to realise how I felt about you, given how genuine and kind you are, but I still don’t know how I managed to end up here with you.” He laughed a little, breathless and surprised as he rambled, and Jim’s thumb rubbed at the side of his hand in reassurance.

“You’re amazing,” Bruce blurted out. Finesse went out the window a long time ago, and now he let his thoughts run away with him just a little bit. “Jim, you’re the warmest, most honest,  _ kindest _ man I’ve ever met. I count myself lucky to have you in my life every day.”

He sunk down onto one knee, releasing Jim’s hand as he went to dig the ring box out of his pocket. He had barely even snapped open the lid before Jim murmured,  _ “Yes, _ Bruce. You don’t even need to ask the question.”

“Well, I’m down here now, so I’m going to.” Bruce laughed just to release the tension in his chest; if he didn’t, it felt like it was going to pop, or maybe he was just going to end up crying. “James Gordon,” he said, grinning now as he drew out Jim’s name on purpose, “will you marry me?”

“Yes, Bruce, of  _ course _ I will.” Jim grinned as Bruce slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit into place perfectly - he really needed to thank Selina with that wedding invite - and Bruce stayed there for a moment to admire it on Jim’s hand. “Get back up here,” Jim muttered, his voice suspiciously gruff, “I need to kiss you already.”

Bruce needed no more persuading. He surged up to his feet, his hands flying up to cup Jim’s cheeks as he met him halfway. They both laughed as they stumbled, pausing for a moment to catch their footing, and then Bruce’s lips pressed to Jim’s in a long, sweet kiss. Even now, seconds after becoming engaged it felt different.

“Need to get you a ring, too,” Jim muttered against Bruce’s lips. “People will talk if it’s just me.”

“Mm, here.” Bruce reached into his pocket again, retrieving his own ring. “Do you want to do the honours?”

“Of course I do.” Jim took it, his head bowed as Bruce’s hand settled on his palm. A pleasant tingle ran down Bruce’s spine as Jim slotted the ring onto his finger, right where it belonged. “There. Now we match. Maybe the press will keep their paws off you now.”

Bruce snorted. “This will put us back  _ into _ the papers, actually.” He didn’t plan on publicising anything - nobody beyond their friends and family needed to know - and he certainly wasn’t going to discuss the details of this with anyone else. 

This moment here belonged to him and Jim, and them alone. 

Jim laughed at his joke, and as Bruce leaned in to kiss him again, he laced their fingers together. He felt the cool band of Jim’s ring against his skin, and everything felt  _ right. _

* * *

Iman was the first to greet them at the door, tugging Bruce in with a hand around his wrist and a grin on her face. “Come on in,” she said, reaching down to grasp the German shepherd at her heels by the collar.  _ “Back, _ boy, come on. Let everyone in before you say hi.”

Laughing, Bruce crouched down to offer the dog his palm to sniff. “It’s alright, Iman. You’re right, he’s cute.”

Renee lingered in the hallway, a beer already in her hand. She raised it in greeting as Jim and Alfred followed Bruce inside. “Hey, guys. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Jim said. “Is Tiffany already here?”

“Out here!” she called, further back. “Can’t move, the cat’s on me!” She sounded delighted, and Bruce snickered again.

“You guys want anything to drink?” Renee asked. “We’ve got beer, soda, water.”

Alfred scratched the dog behind the ears as he passed, while Bruce stayed down on his knees, rubbing through his scruff as he rumbled happily. “A water for me, thank you, Renee,” he said. “And here, this is for you. Guard it closely, I don’t often give these out.”

“A recipe book?”

“Some of mine.”

“Oh!” Iman leaned over to take a peek at the cover. “That’s amazing, Alfred, thank you.”

“He’s barely given me any of those,” Bruce said from his spot on the floor. It drew a smile out of Alfred, and he beamed back at him, glad he’d seen the amusement in it.

Bruce used Jim’s hand to pull himself back to his feet, and the dog scrambled up to follow, eager to greet the visitors. He ended up flopping at Jim’s feet when they settled down on the couch next to Tiffany, who looked utterly delighted to be trapped by a fluffy grey cat. As far as parties went, Bruce thought, it seemed like a pretty relaxed one, and that was more than fine with him. It felt oddly normal, far away from the kind of party he was used to attending. He liked it already.

He reached out to stroke the cat, tucking his finger under his chin, and as he did, he felt Tiffany stiffen next to him.

“Hold on,” she said, “when did you start wearing a ring?”

Bruce paused. The cat’s eyes opened, glaring up at him for stopping.

“Last night,” Bruce replied eventually. His heart fluttered again at the memory; it was still so fresh, so new, and it gave him the exact same butterflies he’d had at the start of the relationship. 

Tiffany leaned forwards, looking at Jim across Bruce, who lifted his hand to show the matching ring on his finger. It glinted in the light, and Bruce found his own eyes drawn to it despite how much time he’d spent admiring how it looked on Jim’s hand the night before.

“Holy  _ shit.” _ Iman stared at them, lips parted, and then broke out into a smile. “Congratulations!”

Distantly, Renee called, “What’s happening?”

Jim closed his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered.

Iman swept out into the kitchen, but Bruce could still hear every word as she announced, “Bruce and Jim are  _ engaged.” _

Bruce patted Jim’s hand as he sighed. He opened his eyes again, seeming resigned as Renee appeared in the doorway, a glass of water and two beers in her hands. Her accusing stare quickly found Jim, but to his credit, he didn’t react under it.

“You didn’t tell me you were planning anything,” she said. “When were you gonna ask for my input, Jim?”

“I didn’t plan it.” Jim jerked his thumb back at Bruce. “He asked. All I did was say yes.”

Bruce almost admitted that he didn’t do much planning either - it was all a bit spur of the moment, in fact - but he held his tongue. 

“It’s about time,” Renee tutted, handing out drinks. “You two have been practically married for years anyway. Honestly, when you told me about Batman, everything made  _ so _ much more sense.”

“I told you, I didn’t know who he was until the first Waller thing,” Jim muttered.

“Anyway,” Bruce added, “this isn’t supposed to be about  _ us, _ this is your housewarming party.”

“Do you see see a disco ball?” Renee gestured up at the ceiling. “This isn’t a party, it’s drinks with friends, and burgers when we eventually head out into the backyard. So do you want to talk details, or-”

Jim opened his drink with a deliberately loud crack of the seal. “Absolutely not. All you get to know is that we’re engaged. I made my mistake last time when the whole office found out we were dating, I’m not putting any other ammo out there into the world if I can help it. All you’ll get is an invite when it’s planned.”

“Check the  _ Gazette _ tomorrow,” Alfred said helpfully, “I’m sure someone snapped a photo of Bruce on our way over.”

“I was hoping to escape that a little longer,” Bruce sighed, mostly to himself, but Jim huffed next to him. There was humour in it, though, and when he looked up, he didn’t see any trace of regret in Jim’s eyes. 

He only saw warmth and love, and unconditional acceptance. That one look told Bruce everything he needed to know: Jim knew what he was getting into, and he didn’t care. This was worth it, every minute of it, and he wasn’t going to change his mind because of a little bit of attention in the papers that would, quickly, inevitably, fade. 

Jim’s fingers brushed against his own, and Bruce forgot his worries in an instant.

There wasn’t anything  _ to _ worry about. Here, in this room, was plenty of proof that things were different now; only a couple of years ago, this gathering of people would have seemed utterly bizarre, like putting together a puzzle with pieces from different boxes. Now, though, they came together to form the picture of a very particular little family, and Bruce realised how truly  _ happy _ he was. It was an odd thing to accept, to know that the past was finally at rest, untouchable. 

For once in his life, he had so much to look  _ forwards _ to. There wasn’t even the chance to get bored, not when he had Jim, Tiffany, and Iman to keep him up to date on Gotham’s most wanted, and work kept him comfortably busy. It was  _ enough. _

All that mattered was what was ahead. 

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: do not interact if you ship incest.


End file.
